Dragons and Angels
by bbparker49
Summary: Frank and Olga are on a honeymoon. Frank has a nightmare or has he


1 TITLE: „DRAGONS AND ANGELS"  
  
Subtitle: Frank Parker's realm of dreams?"  
  
   
  
AUTHOR: Gabriele Lamm-Deiss  
  
   
  
2 FANDOM: SEVEN DAYS – General FanFiction  
  
   
  
PAIRING: Frank/Olga'  
  
   
  
RATING: R  
  
   
  
STATUS: NEW AND COMPLETE  
  
   
  
ARCHIVE: YES!!! Others please ask first!  
  
   
  
FEEDBACK: Very appreciated!  
  
   
  
E-MAIL: gabriele.lamm-deiss@steinbock.de  
  
   
  
SERIES/SEQUEL: Sequel to "TRULY.DEEPLY.MADLY – Part 1-8" so it might be useful to read this story first!  
  
   
  
DISCLAIMERS: All Seven Days characters belong to UPN/Paramount. EXCEPT: I am proud to say that THE ADULT SALLY DANZIGER, JEROME 'ANGEL' DANZIGER as well as all the other appearing characters are entirely mine!!!  
  
No infringement of copyrights is intended.  
  
   
  
NOTES: Thanks so much to Breanne for all the beta and urging me to write a sequel. Thanks to my husband, he had some nice ideas. Thanks to Mike, he allowed me to use his idea for the subtitle and his comments on every part!  
  
   
  
SUMMARY: Frank and Olga are on their honeymoon vacation in Europe. Frank has an odd and weird nightmare! Has he?  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
3 "DRAGONS AND ANGELS"  
  
   
  
4 Subtitle: "Frank Parker's Realm of Dreams?"  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 7.30 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
This more than a hundred years old hotel, combining the ancient architectural style and the luxury with the most modern comfort, was simply great and situated near Place Charles de Gaulle in the center of Paris. The gigantic opulent honeymoon suit named 'Paris' was overwhelming, its terrace offering an incredible romantic view over Paris – a dream. Despite the enormous price he had obstinately insisted on making this accommodation to create an unforgettable event. Who had said that he was not romantic, had no idea what romance really was? Since this dinner and the vacation break at Lake Tahoe Olga was flabbergasted, she had never ever thought that Frank B. Parker would know what romantic means! And his proposal? Past every description! She knew only one word to describe this: wow! This time again he had surprised her and her opinion had been confirmed, he was a conundrum in the true sense of this word.  
  
   
  
With a start he was awake now, bathed in sweat, his heart madly hammering in his chest. It seemed as if he was not longer able to stand this again and again, being tortured with these incredible nightmares, their grimaces hunting him, laughing at him and trying to tug him into this merciless abyss of insanity, leaving only a slushy something, once imperturbable insisting to be a functioning human brain. But only a few seconds afterwards a female hand, wearing a beautiful golden wedding ring, softly touched his cheek to soothe him:  
  
   
  
"Ssshhhh … this was only a nightmare – only a nightmare!" The words were reassuring and he desperately wanted to believe them, clinging to them, sticking to them.  
  
   
  
"God Olga! I really thought I hoped that these damned nightmares would finally stop now!" He sighed deeply, running his hand through his hair, slowly recovering and trying to handle what he just had to go through.  
  
   
  
"Frank it's too early! You had these nightmares for years now! It'll be better! I promise! But this will need time! You can't expect that this'll stop the very moment you start talking about all these things occupying and tantalizing your mind!" It was terrible to watch him having such a great deal to bear, although she had closely to live this through for three times now since November.  
  
   
  
She sat beside him in their huge bed and hugged him, gently wiping away the glistening pearls of cold sweat on his handsome face.  
  
   
  
"I really hope that you are right! I'm not hot to go on fighting my own personal bogeyman for the rest of my life!" His voice was still weak, husky and not really persuasive. He smiled at her, trying to hide his endless fear to lose this fight. Maybe he wasn't strong enough to win this merciless cruel battle. Maybe even her fringeless trust and faithful alliance couldn't help him.  
  
   
  
He kissed her softly and absent-minded playing with a strand of her red- brown hair he continued:  
  
   
  
"But this one was completely different. Usually I don't remember my nightmares – only foggy and vague fragments. This one was like a movie, a dream within a dream! And obviously I mixed reality with imagination! I remember every single detail!" He shook his head in disbelief.  
  
   
  
"Frank, would you like to tell me what you've dreamt?" Olga's voice was professional now.  
  
   
  
"This was the weirdest and oddest nightmare I ever had. No that's not correct – it was …" He tried to find the right words: "… yes, I think the best way to describe what I've dreamt is to call this a movie! It was about us, the backstep team. We decided to resign!" He cut off and ran his fingers through his hair.  
  
   
  
"We did what? Resign? This is weird! You would never resign – you are the natural born chrononaut! Not even in my wildest imagination I could think of a Frank Parker leading a quiet and secluded life!" Olga laughed.  
  
   
  
"There was this guy and this beautiful woman!" He seemed not to realize her last comment and was deeply in thoughts.  
  
   
  
"Oh! A beautiful woman!" Olga was alarmed and her voice sounded a bit angry now.  
  
How could he dare to dream about another woman? We are just married! Such a little scumbag!   
  
   
  
"Um, Olga! If you want to hear what I've dreamt, you should stop interrupting me! By the way this is my dream! I am really not accountable or can be disciplined for my dreams! Maybe it's better to let's leave it at that. You know what I think about all this psycho crap and you are not my psychiatrist!" Now he sounded angry too and rose from their bed, heading for the bathroom to take a shower and without a further explanation.  
  
   
  
"Okay. Let me make a suggestion!" Olga tried to yield – she was eager to hear about his dream and this woman! "Let's have breakfast. We shouldn't discuss this on an empty stomach! I am not your psychiatrist but I am your wife and your friend! And therefore everything scaring you affects me!"  
  
   
  
He stopped and turned. He was standing in front of her now, stark naked – simply a fine specimen of a man - having his hands on his hips he looked at her for a moment, frowning but mute, he seemed lost in thoughts until he finally reluctantly bowed his head in agreement. He opened his mouth to answer but hesitated, shook his head and turned to take a shower.  
  
   
  
An hour later they sat at the table of their honeymoon suite, equipped with everything necessary for a big breakfast and nobody would listen to their conversation or would even interrupt them because of the 'do not disturb'- sign still hanging at their door.  
  
   
  
Frank sipped at his coffee cup and started to tell her about his dream:  
  
   
  
"It started like one of my usual nightmares. I was sitting in the blue sphere, wearing my orange suit and pressed the button to engage. I was rocking like hell and time was turned back. I could see the clock working. And I had these flashbacks I use to have during a flight with the sphere." ….  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream, recent past:  
  
   
  
"And I really hope, our decision not to return to Never-Never-Land was right!" He sounded thoughtful.  
  
   
  
"It was! Believe me! Sooner or later your nightmares would have worn you down, would have driven you crazy. And I'd never endure to lose you!" She firmly stated looking into his eyes, reassuring him and leaving not the faintest remnant of a doubt in her voice.  
  
   
  
"I am still wondering about the fact that they have accepted our resignation without a serious attempt to convince us to return!" He frowned and looked at her, his eyes showed a mixture of disbelief, hope and hidden alarm. He was not able to grasp this strange feeling he had, could not describe it, but there was this gnawing tiny little spot in his stomach, remembering him to be careful, not to be too unmindful.  
  
   
  
He pulled her closer and started to kiss her again. His lips his tongue and his hands were gliding over every inch of her naked body, he delicately caressed her and began a passionate love play, extending the desire to an ecstasy. Both were swept away from waves of desire and lust flooding through their bodies, absorbed in this lovemaking, deeply diving into a world made of love, forgetting every pain and harm until they finally released each other, breathless but sated.  
  
   
  
Afterwards still lying in the afterglow, her head rested on his chest, he gently touched her and they kept on talking about the past few weeks. …  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: recent past, Briefing room (NNL):  
  
   
  
Talmadge, Ramsey, Donovan and Mentnor were on duty for the next two weeks, Owsley was with his family for the Christmas days and they had just started their every day meeting when the switchboard operator announced an incoming "Conundrum" call.  
  
   
  
"Put him through!" Bradley Talmadge and the others were eager to hear what Parker had to tell them and he pressed the button of the loudspeakers.  
  
   
  
"Frank what's up? Did you find Olga and were you able to set things to right?"  
  
   
  
"Yes Sir! Olga's with me! Right beside me! Sir, first I want to thank you for all you have done! We will marry!" They could hear the bliss in his voice and he continued:  
  
   
  
"But I have some bad news too. We won't return!" This sentence came as a real bombshell!  
  
   
  
He hastily explained their reasons, his fear that the NSA Panel would admit him back to Hanson Island and the words bubbled out of his mouth …. They had no chance to interrupt him to analyze or to ask him until he had told them every detail and remained silent, almost out of breath.  
  
   
  
First everybody in the briefing room was speechless, overwhelmed and simply amazed, what they had heard had really shocked them. When Bradley Talmadge regained his composure in at least some extent, he answered still tensed and moved:  
  
   
  
"Frank are you sure? Do you really want this? You know … you are the chrononaut and Olga has an excellent career she's going to throw away! That's… that's just plain stupid! Frank, Olga, you are not stupid enough to believe that the Panel will accept this without resistance!" Bradley Talmadge was fighting his emotions.  
  
   
  
"Buddy! I can't believe this!" Donovan took the floor. "This is crazy!" He shook his head in disbelief.  
  
   
  
"Parker you insane psychopath! You are a deserter! You can't do this!" Ramsey shouted hotheaded into the loudspeakers.  
  
   
  
"Folks! We are definitely not coming back! This decision stands firm and is irreversible! Please help us please intercede for us! I have to finish now but you know how to contact us. We still have our mobiles and pagers! And Sir, friends," … he cleared his throat and his voice was thick with emotion now, "It was an honor to serve with you, all of you! Even with this stubborn blockhead Ramsey! We stay in contact!"  
  
   
  
The line was dead.  
  
   
  
The team members looked at each other and Ramsey spotted:  
  
   
  
"Sir, with all due respect! Parker is completely insane now! Resign!" The last word came sharp and in a nasty manner: "What the hell … who the hell does he think he is?" Ramsey was getting beside himself.  
  
   
  
"Nate!" Isaac Mentnor tried to calm him down. "Weighing up the two possibilities either to lock him up and therefore admitting him to Hanson Island or to help him to resign I think the second one is the more human the more upright way, he is a dear friend of all of us. In my opinion we have no real choice! We have to accept this! Or do you really want to use force? This would be senseless you know this as well as we do! By hook or crook at the first chance presented Parker would try to escape! Olga is the lesser problem to handle but Frank? And I think at last we owe him this favor even if this means that Bradley and I will be decapitated and divided into four parts! The Panel will not take this so easy! We can only try to convince them otherwise they would admit him back to Hanson Island! To stay in Russia is the best he can do at least at the moment. This will make it a bit more difficult for the Panel to track them down and to lock them up!" He sighed concerned.  
  
   
  
"Sir, as a Chief of Security I have to protest!" But after only a fragment of a moment Ramsey growled: "As a colleague I have to agree!" He sighed: "With a heavy and sad heart! But to give vent to my feelings the Panel will get him by the short and curlies and then they will beat the shit out of him! I hope this bastard really comprehends that he sets the ball rolling!" … And he added: "And Sir, forgive me saying so but the Panel will not only beat the shit out of him! I think you are their main target and like in ancient times the messenger bringing the bad news is the one who will be decapitated!" He sighed frustrated and shook his head, sitting in his chair he really seemed to worry about Parker.  
  
   
  
There was nothing to keep Donovan on his chair any more. He paced the room to and fro running both hands through his hair and finally he stood there with his arms akimbo.  
  
   
  
"God, I hope Frank knows what he's doing!" Donovan frowned and rubbed his chin. "We really should work out a good plan!" And with an encouraging smile: "Well we all know that Parker means trouble, he is the living incarnation of trouble! All right, let's paint the town red! Well, if it comes off!"  
  
   
  
And suddenly he froze and slapped his hand on his forehead:  
  
   
  
"Heavens above! Due to all this bizarre and fantastic stuff we heard we have totally forgotten to congratulate him! They'll marry!" And he moaned: "What a pity! Maybe none of us can participate in the wedding celebration!"  
  
   
  
They looked at him and suddenly they realized that Donovan was right!  
  
   
  
"In deed, if they decide to marry in Russia, we are not able to attend!" Bradley Talmadge sounded really touched and that was just what they all felt. He rose, sighed and tightened his body:  
  
   
  
"Gentlemen! I have to inform the NSA Panel now!" Bradley Talmadge waved Mentnor to follow him. "I have to clarify this bizarre situation with the Panel!"  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: recent past, Washington D.C., The Pentagon, Briefing room of the NSA Panel:  
  
   
  
Bradley Talmadge and Isaac Mentnor sat in front of a huge table. The whole room was darkened to veil the members' identity, only a few lamps burning on the table. They could not look into the five members' faces they only recognized their shadows. Only the two liaison officers, arrogant, bumptious and self-satisfied like always, actually talked to them, Mrs. Norton and Mr. Sackheim, the two spokesmen. The others stayed mute and they neither knew the names nor who they were and they never would acquire knowledge. But the sheer presence of these members was frightening, strange and very alarming. It was always worrying, sitting in the dark watched by ungracious eyes, justifying oneself, defending oneself – like sitting in front of the ancient Court of the Inquisition. But today it was the hitherto worst time, like standing in front of the firing squad awaiting the execution.  
  
   
  
After Bradley Talmadge had informed the NSA Panel in a very long telephone conversation they had insisted to talk to him personally and he and Dr. Mentnor had been ordered to come to Washington - instantly. The Panel had already come up with a decision and Talmadge and Mentnor were sitting at this table, scared of what they might be told. This might completely ruin their Christmas holidays. Both hoped that there would still be a small chance because the Panel not always decided unanimously. The last decision in November to deny a backstep to save the chrononaut was 3:2. This obviously meant that two members were more moderate, more reasonable and more willing to appreciate Frank Parker's merits. So both of them hoped that these two members actually could convince a third one to follow this suggestion!  
  
   
  
"Dr. Talmadge! Dr. Mentnor! Listen to the decision! First we have decided to accept Dr. Vukavich's resignation!" The voice of Mrs. Norton was strident and unfeeling. Talmadge and Mentnor heaved a sigh of relief. In this case they had been spared again!  
  
   
  
"But!" Talmadge and Mentnor instinctively started and tightened their bodies in a flutter of expectation.  
  
   
  
"The Panel – in view of his uncontested merits – he deserved well for saving the United States and the whole world – accepts the chrononaut's resignation too. You have the task to find a replacement. Immediately! Captain Craig Donovan is now our first chrononaut and the second one - the replacement - has to stand in – to secure the success in case of emergency! That's all – you are dismissed now!" Her voice was cold as ice.  
  
   
  
Talmadge and Mentnor rose to their feet and left the room wordless, their relief was past every description and this load was taken off their minds. Obviously this would become a merry Christmas! They had risked their own career, it was either doing or die and despite the enormous dressing-down and the fact that the Panel had almost chopped their heads off, they had – gritting their teeth – accepted.  
  
   
  
What the two spokesmen of the Panel hadn't mentioned this time was, how they had decided - the fact that this decision was in no case unanimously. Some had violently argued the pros and cons, had vehemently interposed veto and insisted to bring them back to Never-Never-Land. In their opinion the risk was much too high that some day they'd let out the details of Project Backstep. Due to the instable condition of the chrononaut's mind and his obvious problems with authority, some members insisted on admitting him back to Hanson Island. Finally the other members had to put their foot down and to finish this venomous unpleasant and relentless flood of words.  
  
   
  
In the evening of this day, Christmas Eve, Bradley Talmadge had called Frank Parker and had told him about this fortunate decision - unexpected but maybe the Panel had felt a kind of a hint of compassion? This was another Christmas gift for Frank and Olga! Both were beside themselves with joy, completely bewildered and in Bradley Talmadge's opinion they had to find their own salvation even if this meant the loss of a well-deserved member of Project Backstep, the loss of the first chrononaut who had been able to survive a backstep – a hero - and the loss of two friends, the loss of two members of the backstep family. He had insisted to see them personally for a last official duty in Never-Never-Land – they had to give back their NSA identity cards, Parker's service weapon and had to sign some official documents regarding their resignation, because this would seal their resignation with immediate effect – ultimate and irrevocable. They promised to come after their honeymoon.  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: recent past, Moscow, Russia:  
  
   
  
Since Christmas they had stayed in Russia at this hotel in Moscow, Grand Hotel Marriott, not far away from Olga's parents and her sister. They had celebrated the holidays together and Olga's family had warmhearted and with open arms welcomed the new future son in law. They had only worried about the fact that neither her own daughter nor Frank Parker had really told them what jobs they had. They had only heard vague and brief mentions of something like working in research and something that sounded like test pilot and the urgent appeal not to ask further insisting questions.  
  
   
  
It was still very cold in Moscow the streets still covered with snow but they didn't notice the frostiness feeling only happiness and passion their mind was made up.  
  
   
  
Now they stood in front of this orthodox priest in this beautiful small church opulent almost overflowing decorated with holy pictures and sacral art venerating the Saints, smelling of incense myrrh and the distinctive scent of hundreds of burning candles enlightening the nave and bathing everything in warm light making this a stirring emotional intimate and memorable ceremony only watched by the members of Olga's family and a few persons sitting there to say their prayers and now adoring this beautiful young couple in front of the altar.  
  
   
  
He was wearing a tuxedo – he had actually managed to loan one – a white shirt a black bow tie and the obligatory black patent-leather-shoes. He looked upsetting handsome. Olga standing at his right side wore the wedding dress her mother and her grandmother had already worn at that time they had married. It was an old family heirloom. An ankle-length off-white high- necked close-fitting dress made of brocade over and over embroidered with pearls glistening in the candlelight and gentle rustling with every slight move perfectly complemented with the fitting shoes. Her hair was pinned up fixed with small silver hair slides and tiny white flowers a few carefully curled wisps of her red-brown hair lovely swirled about her beautiful face showing a radiant smile of bliss. She wore no additional jewellery except the platinum engagement ring on her right hand.  
  
   
  
The priest had asked the formal questions and was now giving them his blessing and asked them to interchange the wedding rings. They looked at each other interchanged the rings and then he kissed her holding her in his arms a mute promise never to let her go again always to love her and to care about her until the end of his days. She touched his cheek gently to reassure her that this was real, was not a dream.  
  
   
  
"Nice to meet you Mrs. Parker!" He still held her in his arms smiling at her.  
  
   
  
"It's a real joy to meet you too, Mr. Parker!" Her face was beaming with delight and her voice showed the total bliss she felt. "I love you!"  
  
   
  
Later after a joint dinner with her family at this expensive Russian restaurant to celebrate the marriage together with Olga's family they took a taxi back to their hotel. They had already said goodbye to their wedding guests and after this wedding night in this hotel suit in Moscow they wanted to enjoy their honeymoon and planned to spend a few weeks simply making a sightseeing tour around Europe. Their first stage would be Paris. The tickets were already bought their luggage packed the hotel accommodation in Paris was made and their flight would take off at Sheremetyevo airport on Monday morning heading for Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris, France.  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 9.30 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
"So far, so good! You see I mixed up some real facts in my dream. I enjoyed our wedding again!"  
  
   
  
Still sitting at the table of their honeymoon suite they were intently discussing Frank's dream. Not quite! Frank was talking and Olga listened mesmerized of what she heard.  
  
   
  
"But then it got really weird. Suddenly I was sitting in the sphere again and obviously it has landed at the Base. Do you remember the time burps? You know this problem I had a year ago! I mainly talked about this problem with Dr. Lola Manson, our NSA psychiatrist, but I've told you too. These time burps first appeared when I had to save Bradley's life. These Chinese agents had kidnapped him, trying to get information about Project Backstep and finally he knew no way out and swallowed the suicide drug in his ring. I had to go through this three times until I was successful. A few days later, when I thought this anomaly was over, I saw that the bubbles in my beer started to fall again – only for a few seconds and then everything was fine again and they kept on rising. Wow – this was weird! And so my dream became weirder and weirder. Just the moment when I wanted to unfasten my seatbelts, I heard this typical noise and was vehemently pressed into my seat again. This damned thing started! I hadn't even to press the button! But this time the clock was beginning to count onwards! I had no chance! I had to sit there and to watch the clock!" He seemed to be still shocked. What he had to go through now was a nightmare …..  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: recent past, somewhere in Washington D.C.:  
  
   
  
A man in his middle sixties, well dressed and obviously well to do, sat behind his huge mahogany desk in his private office. The room was dark except a blue banker's lamp burning on the desk. This office was very elegant and stylish, with big bookshelves, expensive Persian carpets, a few deliberately chosen antique pieces of furniture and two very expensive originals, a Rembrandt and a Van Gogh. He was incessantly watching the screen of his laptop, waiting for an answer to his insertion in several big newspapers, for example 'The Washington Post', 'The New York Herald', 'Tokyo Asahi Shin bun', 'Zurich Tageszeitung'. Column miscellaneous. This insertion was small, only a few words, but the person he wanted to address would certainly recognize the hidden code:  
  
   
  
OFFER A SAFE HARBOUR FOR FALLEN ANGELS! CONTACT UNDER …. Followed by an email address, anonymous and impossible to trace back to the sender.  
  
   
  
Finally his waiting was paid and his screen showed an incoming mail:  
  
   
  
FALLEN ANGEL – INTERESTED IN A SAFE HARBOUR!  
  
   
  
The man's fingers flew over the keys of his laptop expectantly and nervously:  
  
   
  
EXECUTE A SPECIAL ORDER - IF POSSIBLE ACCIDENT  
  
   
  
The answer came instantly:  
  
   
  
THIS'LL BE EXPENSIVE! DETAILS!  
  
   
  
The man typed a large description of what he wanted and waited for the answer.  
  
   
  
THIS WILL TRIPLE THE PRICE! US $ 15 MILLIONS – TRANSFER THE FIRST INSTALLMENT TO A SWISS BANK ACCOUNT WITHIN 24 HOURS.  
  
   
  
The screen showed a number of numerical data and then the directive:  
  
   
  
DEPOSITE THE ENVELOPE WITH THE PERSONAL FILES AND PHOTOS AT THE USUAL PLACE!  
  
   
  
The man nodded in front of his screen and wrote:  
  
   
  
HOW MUCH TIME WILL YOU NEED FOR REALISATION?  
  
   
  
Again the brief answer came instantly:  
  
   
  
AS MUCH AS NECESSARY!  
  
   
  
The contact was broken off.  
  
   
  
The man leaned back in his leather chair, folded his hands and stared at the empty screen of his laptop. A few minutes later, with a sardonic contented grin on his face, he began to transfer the installment to this special Swiss account number.  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 10.00 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
Olga was fascinated. What Frank had told her so far had really hooked her. It was a dream but the details of this dream seemed to be so real, uncommon for dreams. She leaned forward and touched his hand:  
  
   
  
"Please tell me more!"  
  
   
  
Chewing a bite of his bacon and eggs, he looked at her and continued:  
  
   
  
"This was only the beginning! Where did I stop? Oh, yes, the man in his office … and the clock still was counting onwards! The next flash I remember was that we were in London!"  
  
   
  
"In London? I haven't told you yet but I would like to see London! How could you know?" She was surprised.  
  
   
  
"Olga!" He sounded impatient.  
  
   
  
"Oh, sorry! Please go on!" …  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: London, England:  
  
   
  
After spending a week in Paris they had decided to visit London. He had already been there a year ago, preventing the robbery of a military device and - as a nice little side effect – saving the life of the female thief 'Raven' aka Danielle Steel.  
  
   
  
Again they had chosen an elegant hotel near Hyde Park, built in Victorian style and situated practically in the center of the city, a perfect starting point for a visit in London. Though it was not yet spring and the weather was still cold and unfriendly, the simple advantage was that London was not overran, so they had the chance to visit all the important sights and to chose the restaurants without getting into a fix. On their first day here in London Olga was bent on visiting Tower Bridge and the Buckingham Palace, so he had given in with a bright smile and now they were on their way to Buckingham Palace.  
  
   
  
Buckingham Palace. Very impressing. They could already see the Guards standing in front of the entrance – only a few hundred yards away. Olga was standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the lights when the cars slowly stopped in front of the them to let the pedestrians cross. She turned to look for him and to urge him to hurry up. He smiled at her and approached. He was still one step behind her now when she started walking. Just at this moment a black British taxi came around the corner, obviously the taxi driver paid no attention and had no eyes for the pedestrians. He raced towards the crosswalk, exactly there where Olga would be – in the middle of the street. Frank perceived the approaching taxi, grasping the full dimension of this situation – everything suddenly seemed to pass by like in slow motion. He jumped on the street, grabbed for her coat and whirled her around, backwards, towards the sidewalk and the taxi passed her only by a hair's breadth, did not even show the faintest sign of stopping or at least becoming slower and disappeared in the moving traffic. He took her into his arms and hugged her, assuring him that she was unharmed.  
  
   
  
"Olga, are you alright? This was really by the skin of your teeth!" He sighed relieved and still shocked.  
  
   
  
"Um, yes I am! Oh my God, what was this?" She was pale and paralyzed, running her hands through her hair and tugging at her coat, unconsciously trying to wipe off some  
  
imaginary fluffs.  
  
   
  
He lowered his head, his hands still on her shoulders, he looked at her concerned and worried.  
  
   
  
"Do you want us to return to the hotel? Do you want to have a coffee break after this shock? Or do you still want to see Buckingham Palace, so we can try it again?" He smiled and tried to humor and distract her.  
  
   
  
"No, let's go – I think I need the fresh air, I can't sit down at the moment!!" She was still a bit nervous.  
  
   
  
They walked across the street. On the way he looked around attentively and a bit disturbed, for the fragment of a second the tiny little spot in his stomach had begun to prickle weakly but uncomfortably.  
  
   
  
Some passers-by, pedestrians crossing the street and the few drivers waiting in front of the traffic lights had watched the whole incident. Everybody was shocked and very glad that they had got off lightly and now the small crowd, gathered around them, worriedly asking if she was fine, dispersed and the cars started too.  
  
   
  
Unnoticed and unobserved a man had watched this scene, unimpressed and untouched of what could have happened. He stood there at a distance, smiled and shook his head in disbelief of this remarkable and mad coincidence, while he crossed the street heading for Buckingham Palace.  
  
   
  
Though this man's appearance was really impressing, physically and regarding his clothing – he was dressed very well and very expensive; he seemed to be right out of a Saks' catalogue - nobody noticed him – he knew his job and he was brilliant in being unnoticed, being invisible in an almost masterly manner.  
  
   
  
The man was in his late thirties, 1,90 meters, approximately 210 pounds pure muscles, a perfect body wearing a dark gray suit, a light gray shirt and a silver tie under his long dark gray coat, in his hands he held a pair of black leather gloves and today's 'Times'.  
  
   
  
The most striking things about him were his raven black, more than shoulder- length hair, which he wore loose and not – keeping up with the common male fashion – tied together in the usual pony-tail - and the blue eyes. This was neither the blue of the skies nor the color of water, it was a very strange blue – remarkable - darker – a sapphire-blue, sometimes turning into the color of amethysts and now these eyes looked cold, untouched but keen and observant. And ….. he had the face of an angel!  
  
   
  
When he crossed the street in the middle of a crowd through the waiting traffic, he moved like a predator, a beast of prey – elegant, lurking and extremely dangerous. On the opposite side of the crosswalk he was disappeared, seemed to be vanished to thin air, to nothing.  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 10.10 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
"Thank God this was a dream! And thank you very much that you haven't let me die in your dream, otherwise this would make me thinking!" She frowned but there was another detail of his dream, which impressed her more:  
  
   
  
"Have you seen this man before? Do you know him?" Olga was disturbed. Strange but his narration had made her shiver. She could almost physically feel a cold shudder running over her body.  
  
   
  
"No, I've never seen him before, at least as far as I can remember! But I am sure like hell that I would remember him! He is no one to forget!" He answered firmly. "But there is worse! Within the next flash I remember we were in ….  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: St. Moritz, Switzerland:  
  
   
  
Discussing the best ways to enjoy their honeymoon, they came up with the idea to go skiing in Switzerland. They wanted to forget the daily working stress, particularly Parker wanted to distance himself from the backsteps and the horrifying events involved, because sooner or later they would be back in Never Never Land – back to their normal duty – trying to prevent whatever tragedy could happen.  
  
   
  
Over the last night it had snowed again. But now the weather was great, blue skies, bright sunshine, the fresh snow glistening in the sun – simply a wonderful day. The ski runs were crowded but not overrun so skiing was fun - in particular in the upper regions.  
  
   
  
From early morning on – short after breakfast – they were skiing without a break. Now it was 3 o'clock in the afternoon and this should be today's last decent down the ski run to the beautiful ski-hotel, they had discovered earlier this morning. They wanted to have a break there, the terrace had an overwhelming panorama view over the whole skiing area and to sit there in the sun, to relax and to have some food would be great.  
  
   
  
Just off the ski lift and after a few turns down the ski run they stopped and enjoyed the landscape. They were alone, standing there on the top of this small valley, which gently directed down to the hotel. They could already see the huge terrace.  
  
   
  
"What a wonderful day!" Olga was slightly out of breath but mesmerized and very cheerful. She stood in front of him balancing on her skies and leaned on her ski sticks.  
  
   
  
He looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses and wanted to answer when they suddenly heard a noise.  
  
   
  
A strange noise. Yet silent. Like a far away thunder. But the sky was blue; no cloud could be seen. Olga was concerned and looked around. The noise increased and looking over his shoulder she realized with a start the reason for this noise. The disaster came down the hill like a train in full speed. What she saw made her freeze, paralyzed her. She could only open her mouth but she was not able to speak. Could not scream. Not a single word escaped between her lips. But he heard the approaching noise too, he could read the statement on her face, saw the horror in her eyes, felt the menacing quiver of the underground and whirled around. An avalanche!  
  
   
  
A thought suddenly flashed through his mind: Oh my God, we are dead!  
  
   
  
The avalanche was racing downhill exactly towards the point they were standing. A roaring raging frantic freight train. The roaring reached an almost unbearable level.  
  
   
  
Grasping her arm he shouted:  
  
   
  
"Olga! Follow me! Run for your life!"  
  
   
  
With these last words they whirled around and raced down the hill towards the hotel, like hunted by furies. This was their only chance to survive the approaching flood of ice and snow, unmerciful chasing the two skiers like the Devil chasing the poor lost soul. They desperately tried to escape but the avalanche – the fatal disaster - came closer and closer. Hopeless to escape! Ridiculous just to think about!  
  
   
  
A hundred meters in front of the terrace the avalanche had caught them up, grasped them, enveloped them in a cloud of snow and icy cold - swept them away like a roaring stream of water. Merciless, cruel, whirling them around like dolls. They tried to swim, tried not to drown in this river of snow, tried to reach the surface and to remain there as long as at all possible, tried not to be suffocated by the enormous mass of snow, which tried to crush them, to pleasurably shatter every single bone after the other. Their desperate fight, their struggling for life was senseless, the waves of snow engulfed and throttled them, angry and furious about their attempt to escape. And with a last triumphant roar – an insane laughter - the avalanche swept over the terrace, through the large panorama windows of the hotel and stopped in the middle of the restaurant, burying everybody and everything blocking its way under tons of snow.  
  
   
  
In panic and fear the visitors, the sun-worshippers enjoying the beautiful day, relaxing and sleeping on their deck chairs on the terrace, rousing from the thundering noise, had watched the approaching catastrophe in pure unbelievable horror. Most of them tried to jump over the terrace, to run down the hill or to run into the hotel, into deceitful safety and tried to save their bare lives. Others stood there, remained on the terrace like petrified, frozen, paralyzed and unable to move. The avalanche swept them away too, smashed them through the windows, cracked their bones at the walls and suffocated them under masses of snow and ice – tried to wipe out their lives.  
  
   
  
Far above this scene of devastation, horror and death, near the origin of the avalanche, a lone skier stood there, watching the catastrophe through his field glass. With a contented smile in his sapphire-blue eyes, he began to pack his equipment and - out of another backpack - he unfolded something – a paraglider. He started and sailed across the sky – noiseless and elegant like an eagle describing its circles and landed near the hotel. Again he vanished to thin air, unnoticed by the people, who ran towards the hotel to help and to rescue possible survivors.  
  
   
  
It was dark. He was surrounded by a pitch-black darkness. The avalanche had smashed him through the windows into the hotel. The last thing he remembered was the splintering glass, and then he passed out. He was alive. Was he? Far away he realized that somebody called his name.  
  
   
  
"Frank! Frank! Can you hear me?" Olga tried to shovel away the snow still covering his body, with her bare hands.  
  
   
  
He tried to open his eyes and to move his body. Finally he succeeded and looked into her beloved face. Slowly his brain started to work again.  
  
   
  
"Olga? Are you okay?" The words leaked out of his bruised and cold lips. He coughed – spitting out the swallowed snow.  
  
   
  
"Jesus! Frank! You are alive!" She wept, the tears ran down her cheeks and dropped into the snow, but her relief was past every description.  
  
   
  
He tried to sit up and felt every fiber of his body shrieking out painfully, but obviously his bones were intact. He raised his hand to touch the aching spot on his forehead and when he pulled away his hand again, his glove was full of blood. Ignoring the blood and the pain he rose to his feet. For a moment he swayed and Olga had to support him. He looked around and what he saw scared him. Everywhere masses of snow, splintered windows and furniture and a few persons desperately searching for survivors, shoveling the snow with their bare hands.  
  
   
  
"Let's help the others! Maybe there are more survivors!" He shook his head to shake off the numbness and knelt down to dig for survivors.  
  
   
  
Twenty minutes afterwards the hotel - respectively the rest of it – was crowded by ambulance men, police, voluntary helpers and the mountain rescue service with their dogs. Two helicopters had landed at a distance to bring the seriously injured to the hospital in St. Moritz.  
  
   
  
The first-aid doctor had admitted them to the hospital too. Now, after an attentive medical check-up, they sat there on this bench, wrapped in warm blankets and supported with hot coffee. Pale, shocked – but alive and waiting for the police for a brief interrogation.  
  
   
  
As by a miracle both were almost unharmed, only lots of painful bruises, Frank had a black eye, the scratch on his forehead had to be stitched up, a severe hypothermia and Olga's left ankle-joint was sprained and now fixed with bandages.  
  
   
  
"I still can't believe it! We are alive!" Olga sounded weak, exhausted and still scared.  
  
   
  
He leaned his head against the wall behind him and opened his blanket so she could slip under it and curl up closer to him.  
  
"The chief of the mountain rescue service said, that there were only three people killed. All the others, approximately 30 persons, were more or less seriously injured. Fractures, ruptures, bruises and so on!" He paused thoughtfully and continued:  
  
   
  
"He had no clue what the avalanche unleashed. The weather and snow conditions definitely argue against it! They suppose a careless skier or snowboarder aside of the regular ski runs! The customary cause for avalanches! A chain reaction of tragic circumstances! Pure coincidence!" He sighed. But the tiny little spot in his stomach started to prickle again – this time much stronger.  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 10.30 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
He looked at her – thoughtfully – balancing his glass of orange juice in his right hand. It seemed as if he tried to look through the liquid to find answers.  
  
   
  
"The most weird thing was, I could see myself acting in this dream, fighting and struggling against the avalanche and on the other side, I seemed to … to suspend in the air – high above – I could watch every detail! I saw this guy standing there! Watching us!" He tore his eyes away from the glass of orange juice and looked at her.  
  
   
  
"If this was not one of your usual nightmares – Jesus, how scaring must the other ones be? Obviously you had a scary night – in the true sense of this word! Poor darling!" Olga was really worrying about him and sensed how much this must have cost him to talk about this dream. "You saw him twice now! I have no idea but maybe he is the key of this nightmare?"  
  
   
  
"I don't know! This chapter of my dream suddenly cut off and again I was sitting in my chair in the blue sphere. I could feel the engine rocking under my seat, trying to tear me into pieces, but the wheel of time was turned onwards. The clock was right in front of my eyes and there was no doubt, it counted onwards!"  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: Monte Carlo/Monaco:  
  
   
  
Only one more week of their honeymoon vacation was left now and they wanted to use this time rational, but on the other side they wanted to relax – finally - to try to forget the terrifying events of the past days, they simply wanted to enjoy this vacation and live their life as a couple now, at least in the few remaining days of their honeymoon. Back at the base in Never-Never-Land, work would fill out their entire days and they would not have many opportunities to spend much time together; Olga would have to catch up with all the unfinished flood of paperwork, which had accumulated over the past weeks and Frank? He would continue his usual training sessions, the jogging, the weight-lifting, the endless seeming medical tests to perfect his physical condition and to make the backsteps safer and more comfortable for him and he would try to kill the rest of the day with reading, having a beer together with Donovan or watching the sports channel on TV or he would try to take the piss out of Ramsey.  
  
   
  
Pure amusement and distraction was the order of the day! Monte Carlo! An excellent choice to combine their preferences. Olga preferred the sightseeing, the shopping and the beautiful landscape surrounding the small principality of Monaco including the obvious prosperity of the citizens, the glamour and the luxury. And Frank? He was glad to be there for a completely different reason, he wanted to gamble, to visit each of the huge casinos and to find out, whether the proverb, lucky in love - bad in gambling, was true.  
  
   
  
Their suite allowed a spectacular, breathtaking view over the Mediterranean Sea, the Italian Riviera and the principality of Monaco with the harbor, the old town and the royal palace.  
  
   
  
After their opulent dinner this evening they visited one of the casinos and both tried their luck. Frank had to admit that obviously he was luckier in love than in gambling and after a few hours they returned to their hotel.  
  
   
  
The next morning, some time after the breakfast, they planned a trip heading for Nice and wanted to go by car, so they had to make an accommodation at the reception. Olga could see the little devils dancing in his eyes when they strolled through the huge hotel entrée. Loosening the black bow tie of his tuxedo he stood in front of the receptionist now, a young blonde, very zealous and obviously very impressed by his appearance:  
  
   
  
"Good evening! How can I help you?"  
  
   
  
He smiled at her: "My name is Parker, suite 340! We need a car tomorrow! Some time in the morning, after the breakfast! Would you please make an accommodation? I'd prefer a sport car – a convertible!"  
  
   
  
"Sure! Just a moment please I have to ask!" The receptionist made a brief telephone call and a few moments later she answered with a bright smile:  
  
   
  
"No problem Sir! A Porsche 911 is available, a black convertible and they will bring it tonight so you can use it tomorrow morning whenever you want. It will be in our subterranean garage, you only have to fetch the key here at the reception. The car is fully insured, checked and filled up. Would you please show me your driver's license?"  
  
   
  
After finishing the formalities they walked over, heading for the elevators to return to their suite.  
  
   
  
"A Porsche convertible? Are you crazy? Why not a Maserati or a Lamborghini?" She shook her head.  
  
   
  
"Because I ever wanted to drive a Porsche and I have already tried a Maserati, but if you prefer another car – no problem!" He laughed.  
  
   
  
"Don't you dare!" And the doors of the elevator closed.  
  
   
  
Meanwhile outside the hotel on the opposite side of the street a car was parking, discreetly hided among the others. This luxurious black Mercedes SL 500 limousine was totally unnoticed among all the expensive cars. Everybody was used to see lots of expensive cars here in Monaco. Though the streets were still crowded, nobody registered the shadow behind the darkened windows, waiting and supported by a small microphone in his ear, listening to the conversation inside the hotel. The shadow slipped out of the car and vanished in the direction of the subterranean garage.  
  
   
  
The alarm clock rang early this morning. They'd need approximately 2 ½ hours from Monte Carlo to Nice. The route would direct them in narrow serpentines along the Mediterranean coastline through the fascinating landscape to Nice. Though it was early, the daily stop-and-go-traffic took them more than 20 minutes to leave the city limits behind them and finally the Porsche could show its abilities regarding road holding, speed and the fun to drive this car.  
  
   
  
Temperature was pleasantly mild therefore the Porsche's soft top was open and allowed an overwhelming view over the beautiful landscape - an extreme difference between the lovely small villages, snuggling against the gentle raising green wooded hills and mountains above them and the steep coast with the bleak cliffs more than 100 meters uprightly falling away.  
  
   
  
Suddenly right behind the next narrow turn two cars appeared in front of their Porsche. A silver roadster tried to pass the slower red car driving on the right side of the street. Parker slammed on the brakes, expecting the ABS – standard equipment of his car – to react, this would give him the chance to get out of the way of this roadster and somehow he might have the chance to pass the red car too. But the brakes of the Porsche didn't react. In fragments of seconds he tried it again and with a start he knew that this would be absolutely senseless – they would never react again. In pure disbelief he glanced at Olga – five minutes ago the brakes had worked! He could see the surprised and scared look in her eyes. He tried to pass the two cars but the Porsche was too fast and began to slide on the steeply sloping road. The both cars in front of him reacted too and with functioning brakes he would have had a real chance to be spared, but without? No chance! The Porsche was sliding over the street, touched the red car with its left stern, was whirled around again and broke through the railing with a splintering crack and the shrieking noise of crashing metal. Like in slow motion the car bend over and began its way down the cliffs – giving them enough time for a last look at each other, their whole lives passed in front of their eyes, before it shattered on the cliffs and exploded in an ear piercing detonation of a fiery red dazzling fireball more than 100 meters below …  
  
   
  
… Somebody had stopped time! … And then time was turned back … First slow … than faster … and faster … the detonation … the fall down the cliffs … the splintering railing … the two cars racing up the coastal highway … right to this moment when the Porsche was only a few hundred meters away from this fatal turn.  
  
   
  
He sat in the black leather seat of the Porsche and for a second he stared at the steering wheel in unbelieving astonishment and took a quick glance at Olga. She sat beside him and was watching the landscape passing her eyes as if nothing had happened. Déjà vu all over again! A time burp! He knew what was next! He definitely knew what would happen behind the next turn! He tried to brake – again the Porsche's brakes didn't react, but this time, he had the chance to down into a lower gear – gratefully the Porsche had a stick shift – usually stick shifts were working faster, only for the fragments of seconds, but faster. This was enough to reduce their speed a tiny little bit and with a roaring engine the Porsche came around the turn. This time he was better prepared and he actually managed to handle the jibbing car sliding over the street – again the Porsche's stern touched the red car, was whirled around and cracked into the railing with the deafening explosion of the airbags. But this time the railing upheld!  
  
   
  
The red car stopped with squealing brakes. The driver of the silver roadster – well aware that he was the cause for the fatal accident – committed a hit-and-run and the roadster disappeared behind the turn.  
  
   
  
He wiped his hands over his face, wiped off the cold sweat and looked at Olga. She sat there and could only whimper:  
  
   
  
"Oh my God!" Again and again.  
  
   
  
Unfastening his safety belt he touched her arm and said: "Are you okay?"  
  
   
  
She looked at him shocked and reacted as if in trance: "Yes … I think I am …"  
  
   
  
"C'mon, let's get out of here!"  
  
   
  
She had to get out first, because he could not open the driver's door. The left side of the Porsche was wedged tight with the railing so he had to climb over the passenger seat.  
  
At a distance a black Mercedes 500 SL limousine had stopped. The driver, a tall and muscular man, stood beside the car and watched the scene through his field glass. Slowly he let the field glass drop and stood there with his arms akimbo shaking his head. Damned bullshit! Bloody hell! Do they have nine lives? He got in his Mercedes and after turning the car he started with squealing wheels and vanished behind the next turn.  
  
   
  
After calling the police and a towing truck – the Porsche was a wreck and had to be towed off to the next garage - the handling of necessary formalities, the interrogation regarding the accident, a taxi picked them up and brought them back to their hotel at Monte Carlo.  
  
   
  
Over the whole night the tiny little spot in his stomach had not stopped prickling. He was unable to fall asleep and lay there, totally bleary-eyed staring at the ceiling deeply in thoughts, his busy brain denied sleep. He couldn't describe this vague feeling, only an assumption yet – but the accident, the putative déjà-vu-experience and the strange vague knowledge that he had to go through this accident twice had kept him awake. And there was another very alarming incident – the brakes!  
  
   
  
Why the hell had these damned brakes denied to work? Pure coincidence? Rather impossible but not completely out of the question!   
  
   
  
Hitherto he had not talked to Olga about his growing suspicion that somebody was after them. First he had to clarify something with the mechanics of this garage where the Porsche was towed. The police officers had told him that the car would be examined closely there, also regarding his comment on the brakes. He decided to pay the garage a visit and with this last thought – it was already daybreak – he fell into a troubled sleep.  
  
   
  
On the next morning after the breakfast he was on his way to the aforesaid garage. Somehow he had actually managed that Olga was not with him. He hadn't wanted her to be more troubled than she already was and maybe his apprehension regarding the brakes and the déjà-vu-experience was just a monstrous product of his crazy imagination. He could convince her to go shopping whilst his planned trip to the garage and with a new car he arrived there.  
  
   
  
The wrecked Porsche was already inside the shed on the hydraulic ramp and a mechanic busily examined the bottom of the car. When he realized the visitor he climbed out under the car and wiped off his greasy hands with a former white handkerchief.  
  
   
  
"Good morning! How can I help you?" He greeted him friendly in French. He was the driver of the towing truck and owner of this garage.  
  
   
  
"Good morning! I am … um … I was the driver of this car!" Parker quickly revised, his French had got pretty rusty and had a slight English accent. "Have you already had the chance to find something?"  
  
   
  
"Ah, you speak French! Excellent! My English is very bad! But to answer your question, yes and no, I did find something and I didn't! The police told me about your suspicion regarding the brakes. First of all I have to say that I know this car! The rental firm always has their cars examined here. They highly regard our service and our work. The Porsche was here a fortnight ago! The usual routine service! Nothing noticeable because the car is brand-new – only a few thousand kilometers."  
  
   
  
"And what did you find or did not find?" He sounded impatient now.  
  
   
  
"Sorry, I forgot to mention! You were right; the brakes could not work! The brake hose is torn off!"  
  
   
  
"Are you sure? Torn off, not cut?" His face showed a mixture of disbelief, and astonishment.  
  
   
  
"Cut?" Listen! I am one of the best mechanics in this area!" The mechanic was still friendly but firm: "Definitive! The brake hose is torn off! There is only one circumstance I cannot understand! Come with me, I'll show you!" The mechanic grasped the sleeve of his leather jacket and pulled him in the direction of the hydraulic ramp. They climbed under the ramp and the mechanic showed him the torn off part of the brake hose.  
  
   
  
"It's torn off! So you lost the whole brake fluid within a few hundred meters! But I cannot understand why the brake hose tore off! As I mentioned before, the car is brand-new and this is not even a sign of wear. Even old brake hoses don't tore off! And as you can easily see there is nothing sharp-edged near the tore-off-spot! There you've got me! I am stumped!" The mechanic was really baffled.  
  
   
  
"Okay, but as an expert you are certainly able to tell me if this could be pure coincidence or somebody must have given a hand?"  
  
   
  
"No I am not! I mean I can't completely exclude a helping hand! I regret! The only things I know is usually brake hoses don't tear off – especially not with German sport cars like Porsche! Out of question! So the chance, that somebody gave a hand rather is as good as done! But if somebody actually gave a hand – this must have been an expert!" The mechanic whistled admiring and he added: "You've been very lucky! If the car had broken through the railing, nobody would ever had a chance to see the torn off brake hose!"  
  
   
  
"Thank you very much for your kind help!" With these words he climbed out under the car and headed for his car.  
  
   
  
"Would you like a beer?" This was shouted after him.  
  
   
  
Frank waved a 'no' and sat down on the driver's seat of his new Mercedes 320 limousine. On his way back to Monte Carlo – he had agreed to meet Olga at a restaurant in the center of the city – he was tantalizing his brain. Over and over he let the memories of the past days pass in front of his eyes, tried to burn in every detail he could remember.  
  
   
  
If the car accident was an attempted assassination – things speak well for that – then the avalanche, right out of the blue sky, was too and possibly the almost-car-accident with Olga in London! If this was an attempted assassination, why not a simple bullet? Idiot, because the killer has the order to make sure that this was an accident! But if an assassin was after them, why? And who could be the person who contracted the killer? The backstep team? Totally out of question! Are you crazy? The NSA Panel accepted their resignation! The NSA Panel …?   
  
   
  
He approached the parking zone near the restaurant and could already see Olga sitting on the small terrace at a table, waiting for him. He parked the car, crossed the street and sat down too …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 10.55 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
"Wow!" Olga dropped the teaspoon. "You dreamt that this car accident happened twice? What a scary nightmare! And you thought a professional killer was after us? This guy you mentioned was a killer?"  
  
   
  
"Yeap!" Frank sighed and looked at her mindfully.  
  
   
  
"But it got really creepy now! I told you about my suspect and we decided – after a short quarrel - to inform the backstep team, especially to ask Bradley for help! I thought that this guy must have observed us over a longer period of time and he must have overheard us, otherwise how could he know about the trip to Nice and which car we would take?"  
  
   
  
"We had a quarrel?" She seemed to be surprised.  
  
   
  
"Yes, we had! You addressed me being totally crazy! Professional killer, a car accident, that happened twice, the two previous incidents and so on!" He sighed.  
  
   
  
"Oh! I am so sorry Frank! But you must admit your dream is weird!" She was ashamed and touched his cheek to underline her apology.  
  
   
  
"And what happened then? At the beginning you mentioned a woman!" Olga wanted to hear his whole story now, especially the part about this woman.  
  
   
  
He took her hand, still resting on his cheek and kissed the palm.  
  
   
  
"Okay! I informed Bradley about my suspect!" And he continued …  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: Bradley Talmadge's office (NNL):  
  
   
  
Bradley Talmadge sat at his huge desk. He seemed to be petrified – a statue of pure granite. Nothing, absolutely nothing in his whole life as a member of the National Security Agency had shocked him more than what Frank Parker had told him just a few minutes ago. Simply unbelievable! But not totally out of question! Not with the NSA! With the NSA nothing was totally out of question! He had to admit that he had always obstinately tried to ignore, what the NSA could do and would do, in case they considered possible dangerous trends against national security or their own security. Certainly he was no fool; he knew these displeasing attributes, his job involved this. He was with the NSA for more than thirty years now, but hitherto he had always been successful in burying these things in the last corner of his brain. He had not been confronted with the cruel unmerciful reality for a very long time, until that day, the NSA ordered to kill the presumed hacker, Walter, who had cracked the 'Jasmine'-Code and therefore Chinese secret agents started to kill the NSA and CIA undercover agents on that list. And then, a year later they had ordered to kill Dr. Christa Henderson, the scientist who developed a cure for cancer - regretfully with disastrous consequences not to foresee first - to avoid extensive terrible impact for the whole mankind. This was – in their opinion – necessary, he had to agree! But now? Again reality had caught up with him! This time he was involved personally! He had to face the truth he had tried to ignore for such a long time, had tried not to think about. Obviously the NSA even did not hesitate to erase their agents! His friends!  
  
   
  
He didn't know how long he sat there without moving – only thinking about the absolutely unthinkable! Frank Parker sometimes was hotheaded, unreliable and wild, but as a chrononaut, as a friend and in the meantime more than a friend – a son – he had learnt to pay undivided attention to whatever Parker's feelings were – how weird and odd they might seem at first sight – eventually Parker had always had the nose for it.  
  
   
  
And … far more than this … there had been a backstep! Captain Craig Donovan, Parker's best friend, his replacement, the one who had to stand in, in case he wasn't able to execute a backstep, actually had to backstep, because of a rather simple incident. Caused by a mechanical defect, the Lear-Jet of Governor George B. Williams had crashed and the NSA Panel had ordered a backstep for political reasons.  
  
   
  
According to Parker's telephone call – he thought he had to go through this car accident twice – obviously Donovan's backstep had – as an unintended but lucky side effect - saved Frank's and Olga's lives. What a lucky and unbelievable coincidence! It all added up! Made sense! The time period of the recent backstep, Parker's vague thought to re-live the car accident – perfect! The NSA Panel never would have agreed to backstep because of the death of two former retired members of the NSA, particularly if they actually had sentenced them to death! They simply would have ticked this off – a tragical accident, sad, neither more nor less!  
  
   
  
Running his hand through his gray beard he grasped the telephone and dialed a number; a few seconds later he heard somebody answering:  
  
   
  
"Sir?" Nathan Ramsey, Chief of Security, was on duty this evening.  
  
   
  
"Nate, I want to see you in my office! We have to speak in private! Immediately!" Talmadge hang up.  
  
   
  
A few minutes later an alarmed Nathan Ramsey raced through his door.  
  
   
  
"Bradley? What's up?"  
  
   
  
"Nate, please close the door and have a seat! I am sure you'll need one!" Bradley waved at the chair in front of his desk. Ramsey closed the door and bumped into the offered chair, frowning and with a tensed statement on his face, but wordless.  
  
   
  
"Nate, we have a severe problem! Please listen to me without interrupting me and without your usual comments! These comments won't fit this time!" Talmadge mutely offered him a glass of whiskey and recognizing his compliance, he poured a glass and handed it over.  
  
   
  
"We – that means Parker and I – we think somebody with the NSA has ordered a professional killer to erase Parker and Dr. Vukavich! All facts speak well for that!" He started to give all the details to a totally baffled and bewildered Nathan Ramsey, who in deed was only able to sit there and to listen, mesmerized and frightened of what he had to hear.  
  
   
  
Talmadge finished his explanations:  
  
   
  
"Nate, it won't go any further! For security reasons! We ourselves may be in danger of our lives! I want you to tap your secret service sources; we need a top ten list of all possible professional assassins – only the best. I assume that they ordered only the best to kill an EX-Seal and former CIA agent. Aggravating joining is the fact that obviously they want to make this an accident. So therefore they need the best! I will contact an old friend of mine – maybe he has some ideas!"  
  
   
  
"Sir! I can't count how many times I wanted to kill this insane breed myself, but I never thought that some day …." Ramsey's voice broke. He had to regain his composure first: "If that is true and not only one of Parker's chimeras … this would mean, that nobody with the alpha team – probably even nobody with the NSA – none of us – could ever retire and live the rest of our lives in peace, growing roses!"  
  
   
  
He was at odds with himself and the rest of the world. He rose and left the office. He knew what to do.  
  
   
  
Talmadge looked after him mindfully and only a few seconds later he started to dial a top-secret telephone number.  
  
   
  
"Hello?"  
  
   
  
"James? Old fellow! How are you?" Talmadge sounded relieved when he heard the voice of his old friend Admiral James Earl Grear, former Chief of the NSA – the real big shot and Bradley Talmadge in secret always had suspected that Grear still had a hand in, Grear had a hand in every pie even now. Grear was like a spider sitting in his web – motionless – until somebody dared to tug at a thread. But on the other hand Grear was a dinosaur – an honest man – very rare in this business.  
  
   
  
"Bradley? Bradley Talmadge? Jesus I can't believe this! We haven't heard from each other for eons! Thanks, I am fine. I have to be fine, I retired six months ago – you know this very well. Now Marge and I have all the time we ever wanted! You would not believe how exhausting it is to play golf the whole day!" Admiral ret. James Grear laughed but suddenly he was serious again:  
  
   
  
"But Bradley I do know you far to good to think you called just because we haven't chewed the fat for ages! Come on, spill the beans!" James Grear was nosy now. "How can I help my old friend?"  
  
   
  
Bradley started to tell him every detail of his telephone conversation with 'Conundrum' – short and to the point - but this was the only way out he could imagine and he was the only person he could trust and rely on, he could vouch for and he would even stake his life on him. Grear listened without interrupting him until he finished.  
  
   
  
"Sounds weird old buddy, but I had to learn that nothing is too weird to be true in our business! If somebody in deed plans to get rid of your chrononaut and his wife – he must have internal knowledge! Gee Bradley! Do you know what you are demanding? You demand the impossible! Even I do not know who the members of the NSA Panel are! To guarantee the absolute independence, impartiality and objectivity, these five members have been selected in a ballot, just before the project started three years ago and your chrononaut had to execute the first backstep in history!"  
  
   
  
"And … ", he made a meaningful break, "you know this as well as I do - the only way – the only potential way - to stop an assassin erasing his target, is another assassin trying to erase the eraser! Though I am not at the hub of the whole business anymore, I still have the necessary connections to play this game! It's still the old if-you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch- yours-game! My … teammate will contact you! The agent's codename is 'Black Dragon'! The 'Black Dragon' is the best so-called 'silencer' with the NSA. Absolutely discreet and trustworthy. But Bradley I warn you! You have to give full support and I mean full support, including the personal files of Parker and Vukavich! You will be contacted tonight!" Grear's voice was firm and professional. The old top dog was back!  
  
   
  
"Thanks so much James! How can I compensate this favor?" You could hear the unbelievable relief and regained optimism in Talmadge's voice.  
  
   
  
"Promise that we play golf when this nasty affair is over!" Grear laughed and hung up.  
  
   
  
Immediately afterwards Grear dialed a number – impossible to trace back and to tap – a safe telephone line. His office – though it was at his own house – was bug proved too. A little re-insurance due to his former profession.  
  
   
  
"Go ahead!" He heard the brief answer.  
  
   
  
"Grear speaking! I need your help!" And with this short introduction he started to talk ….  
  
   
  
"Francis Bartholomew Parker! What a surprise!" The voice at the other end of the line laughed mockingly.  
  
   
  
"You know him?" Grear was baffled.  
  
   
  
"This sweet smartassed little nap cake? Ahem! It's better to say … um … he might not know me! It's a so-called once-upon-a-time-thing!" The voice was soft now, sounded thoughtful – but this changed immediately and was as professional as ever:  
  
   
  
"But our decision was clear! We accepted their resignations!" The voice was really angry now. "But I do already have a suspicion! Must be this damned scumbag! I was always suspicious, but I never thought he would go so far! But this is an excellent opportunity to get rid of him!" Grear could hear laughter – a laughter that made him shiver – even him - and a deep sigh:  
  
   
  
"And I hope you are aware that it is almost hopeless to stop the assassin in time! Even for me! But I'll try my best – I owe him this favor! Let's say he is my protégé!" Again he could hear laughter – this time it was warmhearted and caring.  
  
   
  
"You owe Frank Parker a favor? How? … We accepted … ? … Oh my God, in secret I always knew! You are a member of the Panel! This is why you know Parker!"  
  
   
  
Grear was getting more and more confused.  
  
   
  
"Long story Admiral! The long and the short of it is, I know him for a very long time – more private - but regarding professional matters some time ago he had to backstep because a hacker had cracked the 'Jasmine'-Code and you know that I am on top of this list! They started to kill the undercover agents and thank God they picked out the names indiscriminately so I was spared. But if he had not stopped the hacker – who knows what could have happened? Okay, I'll contact Dr. Talmadge! But Admiral", there was a break, "never tell Talmadge that I am a member of the NSA Panel! Never!"  
  
   
  
The telephone conversation was over, but the last words left not the faintest remnant of a doubt, that even Admiral Grear was not untouchable. Not more! Instinctively he sensed that no further explanation was necessary. This had been not an empty threat – far away – this had been a statement, a simple fact! Unmistakable!  
  
   
  
Over the past hours Bradley Talmadge had not dared to leave his office. He was impatiently waiting for the announced telephone call. It was already rather late and he sat in front of his second glass of whiskey – tonight he needed more than his regular glass. In the ashtray leaned his second cigar, when his telephone rang. He picked up immediately and heard the switchboard operator - despite his clear orders still a bit dismayed – announcing an incoming call.  
  
   
  
"Put it through!"  
  
   
  
"Dr. Talmadge? Admiral Grear said you or respectively your chrononaut would need my help? If you want my help, follow my instructions!" The voice was cold and untouched and seemed to be distorted – maybe purposely with the help of a mechanical device.  
  
   
  
"Do you want me to give you all the necessary details first, the personal files?"  
  
   
  
"No! This is not necessary! Be sure that I know, what I have to know!" Again the voice on the other end of the line was piercing.  
  
   
  
Talmadge involuntarily started, but regained his composure and listened to the following instructions.  
  
   
  
"I'll try my best and I'll stay in contact with you! But now I have to check something!" With these last words the telephone conversation was over and he only heard the usual nerve-racking beep of a dead line.  
  
   
  
Half an hour later Nathan Ramsey came into his office again, closed the door and stood in front of his desk now.  
  
   
  
"I have contacted my sources, but I have to wait. We can't expect a list soonest within two hours! At least not, if this has to stay private! But this is what we've got so far."  
  
   
  
He sighed impatiently; handed him some documents and Talmadge gave him a brief summary of his last two telephone conversations. He told him about the special agent's orders and asked him to execute these orders personally and with immediate effect.  
  
   
  
"Nate, what do we know about so-called 'silencers'?" Talmadge had a quick glance at his surprised Chief of Security.  
  
   
  
"Sir? Silencers? Ah … nothing!" Ramsey had to sit down again. "I heard this and that. I am in this business for half of my life now! These 'silencers' are like sand in a fist – always slipping through the fingers. Nothing concrete! And on the other side, it can't be more than a hand-picked fistful maybe even not that!"  
  
   
  
"Nate I have to ask you for another favor! Try to find out everything about a specific agent. The codename is 'Black Dragon'! But be careful! And this is not urgent – you know that our main problem has priority!"  
  
   
  
"This guy Admiral Grear recommended and you talked to?" Ramsey was astonished.  
  
   
  
"Exactly! But I am not sure whom or even whatever it is! Be careful!" Talmadge started to view the documents in front of him and therefore Ramsey was dismissed.  
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 11.15 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
Parker made a break and sipped at his cup of coffee – he sighed and absentminded he started to peel off an orange.  
  
   
  
Olga sat there and waited for him to continue. For a while she watched him playing with this orange but she could not endure it any longer now and blurted:  
  
   
  
"Frank! Please go on! Please don't keep me on tenterhooks!"  
  
   
  
He tore his eyes away from this orange and looked at her. She could still recognize this absentminded look in his jade green eyes – completely lost in thoughts now.  
  
   
  
"What? …" He raised his hand holding a piece of the orange in front of his eyes, inspecting it as if this would be the most interesting thing in the world.  
  
   
  
"Honey, the story – your dream!" Olga was impatient now.  
  
   
  
"Sorry! … oh … phew!" His eyes started to unveil and he continued …  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: Somewhere in Washington D.C.:  
  
   
  
It was late, approximately 11.00 p.m., but at this huge old villa in the middle of a gigantic garden, with old trees, a fountain and innumerable flowerbeds, a lamp was burning behind a window in the first floor.  
  
   
  
The black shadow on the abandoned street in front of this realty, perfectly hided between a few bushes, had an excellent overview over the internal behind the garden walls and could see the dull shine through the thick curtains. The villa had an ingenious alarm system – no watchmen with their dogs, doing their rounds necessary – but not a severe hindrance for this shadow. With a last attentive look around the shadow took a short run-up and jumped over the wall – more than 2 meters high – and landed noiseless on the other side in the garden. For a few seconds - remaining motionless in a squat – the shadow only listened carefully whether somebody had noticed the unbidden intrude; then the shadow approached the mansion – attentively observing the surrounding and looking for something. Finally the shadow found what he was looking for. Behind some bushes – in the middle of a flowerbed - in front of the brick walls a small wire lead along from the ground up to the roof. The shadow smiled. Same old story. Unbelievable expensive alarm systems and the wires carelessly in the open, only hided between bushes.  
  
   
  
I'll never understand this. If I were you, I'd sue the architect! A simple well-trained watchdog is much cheaper and much more efficient! Thanks for the kind invitation!   
  
   
  
A short cut and the wire was useless. Cutting a hole into one of the windows of the ground floor, just big enough for a hand to reach through, the shadow opened the window and slipped into the room.  
  
   
  
Only two minutes later the shadow stood in front of a closed door in the first floor. Underneath the door through a small gap the light of a burning lamp came through. The shadow pulled one of his guns – a silenced 38 Luger special – and entered the room. A man in his middle sixties sat behind his huge mahogany desk and viewed some documents. When he heard the door he raised his head to see who dared to disturb him and froze.  
  
   
  
The shadow closed the door and bumped into a massive chair in front of him. A very relaxed way to sit on a chair, one leg over the armrest, the body snuggled against the backrest – but the gun always training on him lead this relaxed pose ad absurd – and with a diabolic grin his uninvited nocturnal visitor started to speak:  
  
   
  
"Good evening Senator Raleigh! Please excuse me if I don't say it's nice to meet you!" The voice was quiet and pleasing, seemed to be amused, but firm.  
  
   
  
"You?" The Senator was still scared but noticeably regained his composure and arrogant self-confidence.  
  
   
  
"How dare you! Who do you think you are?"  
  
   
  
"Senator, please don't move and keep your hands on the desk!"  
  
   
  
Raleigh put on a poker face, leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and tried to show a relaxed unimpressed behavior too.  
  
   
  
"How did you get into my house? The alarm is on!" Slowly his right hand slipped under the desk and he tried to open the drawer, to pull his own gun.  
  
   
  
"Senator! Please! Which part of my last sentence 'don't move and keep your hands on the desk' did you not understand? But now let's return to the object of my visit!"  
  
   
  
Raleigh reluctantly obeyed, put his hand back on the surface of the mahogany desk and looked at his adversary.  
  
   
  
In the chair in front of him, totally dressed in black – black cat suit, leather jacket, leather boots and gloves – sat a woman. The woman was beautiful, even more than that; she was in her early thirties, approximately 1,70 meters, slim, with an upsetting breathtaking body, platinum blond colored, very short hair and dark brown eyes, which attentively watched him. He knew her well. Only the members of the NSA Panel knew each other personally and she was a member as well as he was.  
  
   
  
"My dear Senator", she spat out the words with unbelievable contempt, "to answer your question first, I might be your personal Damocles' sword – depends on your answers! But the true object of my visit is it has come to my ears that you signed up a professional to erase a little problem! Am I right or was this only a stupid rumor, an 'on-dit'?"  
  
   
  
With a start he went pale as the walls behind him and for a fragment of a moment she could see naked fear in his eyes. But he was a tough man. He would have never come such a long way if he ever would have had scruple or reservation regarding how to reach his aims and if he had not had enough money to buy each and everything including – in his opinion – sometimes useful human beings.  
  
   
  
"Be careful! Don't make me being one of your enemies!" Raleigh tried to intimidate her.  
  
   
  
"Oh! By the way – only for your information – I don't have enemies!" She made a brief pause, shrugged and continued: "At least none alive!"  
  
   
  
He couldn't completely ignore her last words, but he was so very sure of himself that he answered her previous question:  
  
   
  
"First of all you will never threaten me! I would never have come such a long way if I had allowed somebody or something threatening me! And I shan't permit that you do this! In deed I hired an assassin to solve this Parker-problem! I was always objecting to choosing him as a chrononaut! An Ex-Navy SEAL, the inmate of a CIA mental hospital, an insane psychopath, playing the role of a savior of the world! An alcoholic, a womanizer and a gambler! Always ignoring each and every authority! He was safely locked up at Hanson Island wearing a straitjacket until we started Project Backstep and he was one of the candidates for this project. How could this unbelievable mistake happen? How could he ever be put on the short list? And finally how could somebody actually be so damned stupid to choose him? Completely ridiculous! I know that you always doted on him and stood up for him! I am not even sure whether you haven't had a hand in when the alpha team decided in favor of him!"  
  
   
  
He looked at her triumphantly and disdainfully.  
  
   
  
Controlling her anger and repulsion, ignoring his last words, she addressed him:  
  
   
  
"Who wants to threaten you? 'On y soi qui mal y pense'! This is only a nice little conversation – I'll ask and you will answer!" When she continued her interrogation, her face had turned to stone, a cruel grimace:  
  
   
  
"Okay spill it! How did you get in contact? And … be careful don't dare to lie!"  
  
   
  
"There is no need for me to lie! I made an insertion in the biggest newspapers and waited for an answer! You will never know who the assassin is! Even if you would know this, it's far too late to stop him! You can't stop the ball from rolling! He is the best you can get for money!" He laughed.  
  
   
  
"The insertion. The text. What did you write?" The gun targeted his head – the spot right between his eyes - and her finger pulled the trigger a bit closer.  
  
   
  
"You wouldn't dare to kill me! I am not afraid of dying!" Raleigh's words and the self-contented look on his face made her shiver. A shiver of anger and distaste.  
  
   
  
"My insertion was short, only a few words: OFFER A SAFE HARBOUR FOR FALLEN ANGELS, CONTACT UNDER and so on, followed by my e-mail address! The usual procedure! I am sure you know!" He looked at her triumphantly. This last sidekick was necessary for his ego.  
  
   
  
"FALLEN ANGELS?" She could not prevent the moan leaking out between her lips, but regained her composure at least as quick as Raleigh did a few minutes before.  
  
   
  
Jesus! Angel? No! Not him!   
  
   
  
"Thanks a lot for you kind help, Senator Raleigh! And don't worry; I am not going to kill you! I won't get my hands dirty by killing a damned arrogant old scumbag! This would be low!"  
  
   
  
She smiled at him – cold as ice, unmerciful and cruel. This smile said more than a thousand words, more than every verbal threat:  
  
   
  
"For you only the best is good enough! You might not fear death but be sure; I know your most secret fear! Be prepared! I think I've just had an excellent idea! Not now! But soon! I'll be back!" She laughed.  
  
   
  
She rose and left his office moving backwards, leaving him no chance to grasp the hidden gun in the drawer. In the doorframe she stopped:  
  
   
  
"Oh, I forgot – don't even think of calling the police!" Out of her leather jacket she pulled a small device. "I taped our little inspiring discussion!" She left without a further word.  
  
   
  
He was alone again. The ghost was gone. He had to wipe off the pearls of cold sweat running over his face. Her last sentence! Maybe she was right! Maybe she was his Damocles' sword! He felt the increasing panic, flooding his entire body in icy cold waves. His fear seemed to strangulate him. Unconsciously he raised his hand to loosen his tie.  
  
   
  
This damned bitch! The Devil in disguise! I've let myself in for something there! Of course not! Only empty threats! She knows who I am!   
  
   
  
She left the mansion through the main entrance and walked down the small driveway in the direction of the huge massive iron gate. All the way she was deeply in thoughts.  
  
   
  
She knew the assassin. Knew him well. Almost better than she knew herself. Angel! A perfect nickname for him! He had this nickname since he was a child. Everybody considered him being an angel – with this handsome face. But as an adult? Oh, yes, he still had this angel face, but now he was a dark angel. An avenging angel! The assassin had a name!  
  
   
  
Originally he was German, but due to his father's profession, the German ambassador in Japan and the United States of America, he had spent most of his life in Japan and USA. For what reason ever the CIA had hired him. His knowledge – he fluently spoke German, Japanese, English, French, Italian and Russian – his above-average intelligence and last but far away from least, his brilliant knowledge in martial arts, due to the years spent in Japan, had certainly played a very big part in this decision. He had been one of their best undercover agents – always in black operations, a well- trained professional killing machine. He had been her trainer with the CIA.  
  
   
  
And … he was her husband … Ex-husband - to be precise.  
  
   
  
After their divorce three years ago – short before she became a member of the Panel – he had resigned and … got lost. Certainly she heard the rumors too. Intel said that he was 'self-employed'. But it was like hunting a ghost. Nothing concrete. He used to slip through one's fingers like a snake.  
  
   
  
And now he rose like Phoenix from the ashes …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 11.25 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
"You see my dream is going to get complicated!" Parker made a break in his narration and poured another cup of coffee. Again he was lost in thoughts and didn't notice the look in her face.  
  
   
  
"Senator Walter Raleigh? I'm still wondering about the fact that your dream is so unbelievable clear and realistic! You know who Raleigh is?" Olga was thoughtful.  
  
   
  
"I know his name but that's all!" Frank looked at her surprised.  
  
   
  
"Maybe you should watch more CZN News and less sports on TV! Raleigh is with the Congress in Washington, he is one of these old-fashioned stubborn politicians, vehemently against everything new and he is among other things responsible for the defense budget. This affects us too. More or less he is paying our salaries! But the main thing is, there are some rumors. They say he has a hand in every pie, sometimes not completely legal – and this is to be still polite -, but they couldn't verify this until today!"  
  
   
  
"Our boss wants to kill us?" He shrugged his shoulders and sipped at his coffee …  
  
   
  
   
  
Parker's dream: Monte Carlo/Monaco:  
  
   
  
She had arranged the necessary provisions including her detailed orders for Dr. Bradley Talmadge. As soon as she could be sure about the assassin's identity – almost certainly it was her own Ex-husband - she packed her suitcase and with a ticket for the Concorde she left, heading for Paris. With the already ordered Learjet she arrived in Monaco only a few hours later. These were the pleasing side effects of a job with the NSA – a few telephone calls and she sat in this chair in this large hotel suite.  
  
   
  
The hotel Angel had chosen was next to his targets' hotel - also elegant and luxurious, an old Victorian style building. He had ordered a suite. Still very predictable! At least for somebody who knew him as well as she did. So far he had not changed his preferences over the past three years! He had always had a penchant for luxury and she had to admit he had an excellent taste – undeniable.  
  
   
  
She had staked everything on one card and assumed that he was still there, watching them and thinking about other possibilities to execute them. Obviously he had the order to make this an accident. Even for him this was hard. Accidents were extremely difficult to handle. He must earn a lot of money, a fortune and she really hoped that he still was patient enough, was not just about losing his patience, because of the two failed assassinations. She unwillingly had to admire him – respectively his ingenious imaginativeness. An avalanche and an excellent planned car accident! Unfortunately fate sometimes was ungracious. Nobody had ever thought that these two incidents were assassinations. Neither the avalanche nor the car accident. If the car had crashed over the cliffs, nothing would have left its mark! Nobody had found the masterly torn off break hose. The accident in London? No! Simply coincidence! Not his cup of tea!  
  
   
  
She hadn't had much trouble to find out where he was, his alias name for the hotel accommodation or to convince the young receptionist that she was his wife and planned to surprise him – not at all a complete lie.  
  
   
  
It was late afternoon and she sat in this chair for more than an hour now, waiting for him, when she heard the approaching footsteps. Involuntarily she tightened, raised her gun.  
  
   
  
He opened the door, entered the room and froze. Before he actually started to think, his well-trained professional brain had already reacted, a simple reflex, an automatic reaction to stay alive. For the fragment of a second he grasped for his gun in the holster under his jacket but slowly dropped his right arm. With a start he had recognized this scent. A well-known fragrance! Her perfume! If she were here to kill him, any reaction would have been too late, in any way, senseless. He would not even had the faintest chance to recognize her perfume or even the impact of a bullet, before his lifeless body had hit the floor.  
  
   
  
Now he looked at the chair opposite the door and there she was. She sat there, her long legs crossed, dressed in a black leather suit, her blazer had an upsetting neck line, the skirt was short, black high heels – she really looked great, even a Saint had become weak – except the fact that her gun was training on him. Reality had caught up with him again.  
  
   
  
"Hello Angel!" She smiled at him. A warmhearted smile - and a brief movement of the gun showed him to sit down on the huge bed in the middle of this suite.  
  
   
  
"Don't move too fast and sit on your hands!" She was still smiling but these words left no doubt, that she was serious about him.  
  
   
  
"Nice to see you! You look great!" He whistled appreciatory: "You have always been my best student!"  
  
   
  
"Thanks but I had the best trainer!"  
  
   
  
He sat down on the bed – on his hands – and with a look into her beautiful face, memories passed his eyes like burning flashes, tried to roast him alive and reached an almost unbearable level of pain and desire. She was the one out of a million, the one he could never forget and his true Achilles heel!  
  
   
  
He moaned. "Okay!" And with a smile he continued: "What is my wife doing here? To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"  
  
"I heard some disturbing rumors regarding your newest job! I am very sorry but it would be better – healthier – if you'd give up your further plans!" She seemed to ignore the word 'wife'.  
  
   
  
"You'll need a very good reason why I should do that! 15 Million US $ are very convincing! It's a question of honor!" His sapphire blue eyes were serious now.  
  
   
  
"Wow! Much money! Please I don't want to discuss professional ethics! But … would it be convincing enough if I'd tell you that Senator Raleigh wouldn't be able to pay the usual remaining half? And … only for your information … I am the one with the gun and you are still sitting on your hands!"  
  
   
  
"Ah … excellent argument!" He cleared his throat: "But I accept only under one condition!" His smile was radiant now …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 11.35 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
"And what happened then?" Olga could barely wait for an answer.  
  
   
  
"Nothing! I saw a man wearing a straitjacket, strapped up on a camp bed! Hanson Island! First I thought it was me but … That's all! I woke up and was bathed in sweat!" He looked at her thoughtful.  
  
   
  
"Oh!" She was a bit sad due to the unfulfilled expectations she had; wanted to hear more. "Really an awful nightmare! Thank God this was only a nightmare!"  
  
   
  
"Are you sure that this was only a nightmare?" Parker was still lost in thoughts.  
  
   
  
"What else? You are not going to tell me that this was real! Are you kidding? Sure your dream was very realistic, even extraordinary, you mixed up some true facts with imagination, that's not unusual, but it was a dream! Earth to Frank Parker!" She sounded firm.  
  
   
  
"Maybe! I really hope that you are right! But the longer I think about this dream the more possible it seems!" He chewed his lower lip.  
  
   
  
"Possible? Phew! Frank please come off it!" She shook her head.  
  
   
  
"Let's play this through! Okay! … Um … it started with our resignation, we got married and arrived in Paris. Then we decided to visit London – you mentioned an hour ago that you would like to see London – okay, we arrived in Paris yesterday – Monday - so we could have left for London on Wednesday. We could have visited St. Moritz on Friday evening and the avalanche was on Saturday! So we could have been in Monte Carlo on Sunday and could have planned a trip to Nice on Monday. On Monday we had a car accident and on Tuesday morning I could have paid this garage a visit! And Raleigh? He is fact! And then my dream broke off!" He had enumerated all the relevant facts of his dream now.  
  
   
  
"First we would never resign! What would we do then? I would run a shop? 'Olga's little hat shop'? And you? A pub? Jesus! After a short while being out of your familiar job – without Never-Never-Land – you would be your best customer! You'd miss the kick, the danger and the adrenalin! Completely unthinkable! This would kill you! The heart of the matter is – it was a dream! And please if – and I really mean if – this was real – how the hell could you know this without doing a backstep yourself? The only person in the world knowing the future is the chrononaut!" Olga was impatient and wanted to finish this discussion about reality and dream. It started to scare her.  
  
   
  
"Olga! Sure the only one who really knows what happened or better what will happen, is the chrononaut! In this case – in our case - it would be Donovan! But you are very well aware that the chrononaut always has these visions during a backstep. I don't know how or why, but I could always see what happened. It was like pressing the rewind-button on a video recorder. Maybe doing all these backsteps over the last years has made me …" He was searching the right word: "Sensitive! Sensible! Or what ever you call this! And in the meantime you should know me better! I always follow my instincts! This is necessary for survival in this job! And there is a tiny little spot in my stomach which is imperturbable insisting on alarming me to be careful!" He ran his hand through his hair and stayed mute – thinking.  
  
   
  
"Oh Frank!" Olga could not believe her ears.  
  
   
  
"Maybe this was an odd an weird mixture of reality and dream! The usual time period of a backstep is seven days, so time would not be the problem! On the other hand maybe you are right and this was a dream! This would mean that slowly but surely I am going to lose my mind! In fact for good and irreversible!" He frowned and she could see the reflections of different emotions in his jade green eyes – beginning desperation, endless fear to be insane and the unlimited unbelievable will to stick on reality with all the remaining strength, all the physical and psychical power he could afford.  
  
   
  
"Call me paranoid but I have to check something!" With these words he rose from his chair, took his mobile phone and examined it carefully. Frowning and wordless he left the room and went into the bathroom. He sat down on the rim of the bath tube and buried his face in his hands …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 11.40 a.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
First Olga wanted to follow him, wanted to soothe him, to assure him that … what? … that he was not insane? Certainly he was not insane! But sometimes he was so stubbornly insisting on his point of view like a mule. Somehow this nightmare had left him in an abysmally state of confusion, but then she decided to leave him alone for a little while, to give him the chance to collect his thoughts.  
  
   
  
He sat there on the rim of the bath tube; his face buried in his hands and tantalized his brain, trying to find a way out of this jungle of confusion, doubt and mental anguish.  
  
Okay, think! Think logical! It could be possible! It could have happened within seven days! This would add up! Considering the time difference between Never-Never-Land and Europe, the usual seven days period of a backstep, it could be – again – Tuesday, January 8th instead of Tuesday, January 15th! The avalanche! Donovan must know about the avalanche! No he must not! Why should CZN report about an avalanche in Switzerland?   
  
   
  
Pearls of cold sweat ran over his face. He carelessly wiped them off. If he was not paranoid and not just about to lose his mind, there must have been a backstep and the only persons who would know this were the members of his team. Talmadge? Donovan? Whom should he tell this chimerical story? He moaned desperately now. Trying to catch his breath, he rubbed his forehead with his left hand. He felt like drowning in desperation. Calling his mental condition and his power to judge into question. It was like standing in the forecourt of Hell – his own Hell of insanity, the abyss of madness, which tried to devour him.  
  
   
  
Hey you psychopath! Damned idiot! Who should want to kill you? Why? I must be completely insane now! Jesus! Hanson Island is waiting for me! Please help me! Why? What a silly question! Because you are always in trouble! Parker means trouble! My whole life was trouble! And how often have you trodden on somebody's toes? So somebody must consider me as a thorn in his flesh! Raleigh? What was his part in this dream?   
  
   
  
His heart was madly hammering in his chest now and he could hear a tiny little voice echoing in his ears, laughing, and calling him insane, crazy, a complete fool!  
  
   
  
And the woman? Somehow she seems to be as intimate like an old friend, just if I'd know her for eons! But I can't remember her! Photographic mind or not! She is definitely no one to forget! Where? When?   
  
   
  
He rose and went over to the washbasin. He opened the faucet and held his head under the cold water. An attempt to clear his mind. The water felt like icy cold needles tickling on his neck. A moment later he raised his head and closed the faucet. A stream of cold pearls of water ran down his face. He looked at his reflection in the mirror – for a very long time he stood there motionless – finally he took a towel and dried himself. He grasped the mobile phone and dialed a number. With a short glance on the faucet he opened it again. The noise of the running water would make it quite impossible to be eavesdropped.  
  
   
  
What he had to do now took him a lot of will power – either he was definitely losing his mind and had to face the truth or his vague suspicion was true and not a complete bizarre fantasy!  
  
   
  
Waiting for the switchboard operator to pick up the phone he sat down again on the rim of the bath tube.  
  
   
  
"Go ahead!"  
  
   
  
"Conundrum! Put me through to Bradley Talmadge!"  
  
   
  
"Sir? Moment please!" The operator seemed surprised. Waiting for the connection he sighed deeply.  
  
   
  
"Talmadge!" Bradley's voice was severe as every time but he sounded tired.  
  
"Bradley!" The relief in his voice was past every description. "Thank God! Good to hear you!"  
  
   
  
"Frank? What's up? A 'Conundrum-call'? Do you know what time it is? It's in the middle of night! How is marriage? Are you alright?" With a start Talmadge was all ears now.  
  
   
  
"Bradley, only one simple question! Did you have to backstep? The usual seven days?" Mutely Parker was praying to God. Please, say yes!   
  
   
  
"Um…" There was a long endless seeming break: "Ah … yes we had to backstep! How could you know this? A small plane crashed! Governor Williams'! It took us several days to find out the cause for the crash. Donovan arrived a few hours ago! But why? … How? This roar in the background – are you taking a shower?" Bradley Talmadge was completely baffled.  
  
   
  
"Oh! Thank God I am not crazy! At least not totally! There was a backstep!" He heaved an enormous sigh of relief. A load was taken off his mind.  
  
   
  
"Okay, listen Bradley! …" Parker started to tell him every relevant detail of his dream, short and to the point. When he finished his enumeration the other end of the line stayed mute.  
  
   
  
"Bradley?"  
  
   
  
"Wow! Frank! That's a bit thick! But nevertheless … it could be possible! Maybe your marriage had left a nasty taste in Raleigh's mouth? Or he can't bear you anyway! My intel said that the FBI tried to nail him down and to put a bomb under him for several years now. He seems to have more than one iron in an obscure fire! Olga is right! It's best not to tangle with him!" Talmadge was quite sure now that Parker's vague supposition could be the truth.  
  
   
  
"Bradley? Am I … insane?" He could hear Parker's sheer desperation.  
  
   
  
"Frank you are a crazy wild card! But you are not insane! I have to talk to Ramsey but I'll promise this will stay private and we will see that the necessary steps are taken! And I have to call an old friend of mine – perhaps the only one who could help! Do you think you are safe at the moment?" His voice expressed his concern and severe care.  
  
   
  
"As long as no bus will run over us! Contact me via my mobile phone as soon as you have new information! And Bradley … thanks!"  
  
   
  
"Frank be careful! At least once in your life!" Talmadge hung up.  
  
   
  
He closed the faucet and with a last very long frowning view into the mirror he sighed deeply. He had set the ball rolling. Now he had to wait and to try to stay out of trouble …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 4.00 a. m. (PDT), Bradley Talmadge's office (NNL):  
  
   
  
Bradley Talmadge sat behind his huge desk in his office. Due to the early hour he sat there in his dark gray suit without tie, the first two buttons of his shirt open, tired but with the obligatory burning cigar. Short after midnight the alarm had went on and had announced a new backstep. This time Captain Craig Donovan had to backstep because Frank Parker and his wife, Dr. Olga Vukavich-Parker, were still on their honeymoon in Europe and they didn't expect them to be back before the end of the next week.  
  
   
  
Therefore the incoming second 'Conundrum-call' – this time from Parker - hadn't awakened him but had really irritated him. And what Parker told him had finished him off – completely.  
  
   
  
He didn't know how long he sat there petrified and thinking it over and over again. Eventually he grasped the phone and dialed Nathan Ramsey's number. He was on duty this night and it lasted only two minutes before a baffled Ramsey raced into his office, was ordered to close the door, to have a seat, offered a whiskey and to listen without commenting what he was told.  
  
   
  
After finishing his detailed explanation of the recent telephone conversation with Frank Parker he looked at his Chief of Security who sat there in front of him – a picture of disbelief, misery and helplessness. It lasted a few seconds until he was able to speak.  
  
   
  
"Sir, if that is true … who should want to kill the Parkers? This damned Senator? But why?"  
  
   
  
"Nate, I assume Frank is right! We could always trust and rely on him no matter what his other, sometimes a bit crazy behavior might be – he has a nose for that! The facts speak well for that … and … the backstep! Why? … In my opinion there is only one logical reason why! If Raleigh is the man in the background – we can't completely ignore that suspicion - he must be a member of the NSA Panel otherwise he could not know about Frank Parker - than a reason could be his fear that some day Frank and Olga may decide to resign and therefore he wants to secure that they will never be able to talk about Project Backstep. Another reason, a much simpler one, could be – in case he is a member of the NSA Panel - that he doesn't agree with Frank Parker being our chrononaut. He considers him being a thorn in his flesh – hates him because of Frank's past in Hanson Island or what reason ever. Hate is a very strong motivation – sometimes the only one! Many people have been killed for less. We have to take into account even the faintest clue to safe their lives. Nate, I have to call an old friend of mine and in the meantime try to get a top ten list of the best professional killers. But be careful! This won't go any further! For now!"  
  
   
  
Immediately after Nathan Ramsey had left his office Talmadge dialed a top- secret telephone number – mutely praying that his old friend was already awake. He was heard.  
  
   
  
"Hello?"  
  
   
  
"James! Old fellow! Sorry for this early disturbance but I know you are an early riser!"  
  
   
  
After this short introduction he informed his old friend, Admiral ret. James Earl Grear, former Chief of the NSA and asked him to help.  
  
   
  
"Phew! Old buddy, do you know what you are demanding? Even I don't know the members of the NSA Panel – so I can't say whether Raleigh is with the Panel or not! But he is not what I would call a friend of mine! A stinking rich skinflint! I always had these unpleasing discussions with him regarding the NSA budget for our secret projects! And the other aggravating fact is that nobody can stop a planned assassination. The only way I can think of is another assassin trying to stop this professional. In this case I think I can help you! I use my connections! A special agent, codename 'Black Dragon', will contact you. The 'Black Dragon' is the best so-called 'silencer' with the NSA. Bradley, you have to give full support!"  
  
   
  
A brief discussion of the details followed. The conversation was over and Bradley Talmadge was a bit more confident than a few hours ago. He had done everything necessary now and had to wait for this 'Black Dragon'.  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 7.15 a.m. (PDT), Admiral James Earl Grear's house, Richmond, Virginia:  
  
   
  
Grear sat in his office at home. Though he had retired six months ago he was still the top dog in the secret service business. His office was bug proved – an old habit due to his former profession and now he dialed a telephone number and impatiently waited for an answer.  
  
   
  
"Go ahead!" The voice sounded tired.  
  
   
  
"Grear speaking! I need your help!"  
  
   
  
Short and to the point he informed his special agent and asked for help …  
  
   
  
"Alright! Sounds weird Admiral! But possible! Regarding Frank Parker nothing is too weird to be true! Raleigh is a member of the NSA Panel! And I know that he hates Parker. He had always hated him and he was vehemently against the alpha team's decision in favor of Frank Parker being the chrononaut of project backstep. At that time he was powerless against this decision and his wheelings and dealings senseless. He had to wait for a more favorable opportunity to get rid of his problem. But Dr. Talmadge had to inform the Panel about Parker's marriage and the following honeymoon and that gave him the perfect opportunity to hire an assassin and to finally reach his aim! A Frank Parker on vacation is much easier to erase than a Parker on duty! Raleigh only had to wait – like a spider sitting in his web. But there must be more! I've always watched Raleigh very carefully and over the past months I presumed that he had an additional reason to hate Parker. Somehow it seems as if Frank Parker had trodden on his toes! Same procedure as every time – poor Frankie boy always treads on somebody's toes! This must have been the decisive factor!"  
  
   
  
"So you are a member too!" Grear didn't ask – he stated this.  
  
   
  
"Yes I am! And I'll try my best to help an old friend not only because I owe him a favor! I have already told you about this unpleasing 'Jasmine' occurrence and my … um … more private motives! But even I can't guarantee to stop the assassin in time! Besides – I won't miss the opportunity to get rid of an old archenemy – my little Raleigh-problem! Maybe the FBI is not able to cope with him – but I am, my methods are more subtly! But this has to stay private! Never tell anybody about our … conversation!" He heard laughter. A laughter that made him freeze – cold, untouched and unmerciful.  
  
   
  
A few minutes and a few details later the conversation was over.  
  
   
  
Admiral Grear was deep in thoughts. He had never expected this. His agent and protégé – a member of the NSA Panel and an old friend of Talmadge's chrononaut! The world was small – especially the world of secret service! And … you are never too old to learn something new! Even he was not longer untouchable! His agent's last words hadn't left the faintest remnant of a doubt! Unmistakable!  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 9.35 a. m. (PDT), Bradley Talmadge's office (NNL):  
  
   
  
Bradley Talmadge was still in his office waiting for the 'Black Dragon', nervously smoking his second cigar. Finally the switchboard operator released him and announced the long expected incoming call.  
  
   
  
"Put it through!"  
  
   
  
"Dr. Talmadge? Our mutual friend, Admiral Grear, told me that you respectively your chrononaut would need my help? Okay, follow my instructions!"  
  
   
  
The voice on the other end of the line seemed somehow distorted – maybe with the help of an electronic device. He couldn't realize whether it was male or female.  
  
   
  
"Do you need the personal files first?"  
  
   
  
"No! Be sure I know, what I have to know! Where are they now?" The answer was brief and involuntarily Talmadge started. The fact that the 'Black Dragon' obviously knew far more he ever thought possible frightened him more than he wanted to confess to himself.  
  
   
  
A detailed list of instructions followed … short, precise and unmistakable.  
  
   
  
"We'll stay in contact! But first of all I have to pay somebody a visit!" …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 10.23 a. m. (PDT), Bradley Talmadge's office (NNL):  
  
   
  
Just at the moment Talmadge wanted to call him, Ramsey entered the office, still looking tired and with disheveled hair, without jacket or tie and with rolled up sleeves, he bumped into the chair in front of Talmadge's desk.  
  
   
  
"I informed my sources but we have to wait for this damned list for at least an hour!"  
  
   
  
"Nathan, I talked to this special agent! Here are his instructions: Parker and Olga have to stay at the hotel until Dr. Mentnor will arrive there and will pick them up!"  
  
   
  
"Dr. Mentnor?" Ramsey was astonished.  
  
   
  
"Yes! Dr. Mentnor! Donovan has to stay here in case we'd need a chrononaut – we can't take this risk - and you are needed here too! The person who is contacting them must be somebody they trust and rely on! Dr. Mentnor is a close friend of both of them and two members of the 'Black Dragon's' team will accompany him. Two special agents well trained for these jobs! I've already informed Isaac – he is on his way. They will bring them to a small airport near Paris. A Navy-Learjet is waiting for them and will bring them back to Never-Never-Land! This is best way to handle this affair – the 'Black Dragon' assumes – regarding the information we've got from Parker – that the assassin is – at least at the moment - only watching his targets and waiting for a suitable opportunity but he is not going to execute an assassination. Not yet! Even the best professional killer needs a certain time to plan his further actions especially – and we can assume this - if he is ordered to make this an accident! Is our plane ready to take off?"  
  
   
  
"Sure Sir! Where will Dr. Mentnor meet these two guys?"  
  
   
  
"Dr. Mentnor is ordered to fly to our US-Base in Ramstein, Germany! There he will pick up the two agents and fly to Paris! The rest is as foresaid! I've already informed Parker, they will stay at the hotel and wait for Dr. Mentnor!"  
  
   
  
"Sounds good! A military base is not the perfect environment for an assassination! Who are these two guys?" Nathan seemed to agree with these suggestions.  
  
   
  
"I don't know! We …" Talmadge was interrupted by a short knock on his door. An officer handed him a few documents and left the room again.  
  
   
  
"Ah! There we are! These are Dr. Mentnor's contact persons!" Talmadge gave him the documents, showing two pictures.  
  
   
  
Another knock on his door and Dr. Mentnor entered his office.  
  
   
  
"Bradley I am ready! Who are my contact persons?" Dr. Mentnor spoke in his well-known quiet and prudent nature. Talmadge handed him the two pictures, with a quick glance he waved a goodbye turned and left the office heading for the already waiting jet.  
  
   
  
"Okay, the ball is rolling! Nathan, I have to ask for another favor! Try to find out as much as possible about so-called 'silencers' – in particular about this very special one! But be careful!"  
  
   
  
"Sir, I think we should inaugurate Donovan, he will be back this afternoon and Owsley. Donovan is Military Advisor and has his own sources and Owsley … he is the best hacker we've ever had! As far as I know there can only be a fistful-handpicked number of these 'silencers'! It's a very sensitive deal with the NSA! Nothing concrete! You only hear this and that! But Sir, with all due respect, in my opinion these 'silencers' are not one whit better as professional killers! The only difference is, they are with the NSA. They say that they have their own 'sweeper teams'. Obviously these two agents are 'sweepers'!" And with a deep sigh he continued: "Even I have to admit that I might not be able to find much about this guy Admiral Grear recommended!"  
  
   
  
"I am not sure who or what the 'Black Dragon' is! But you are right we need Donovan and Owsley! Arrange the necessary Nathan!" Talmadge's voice showed his concern … I have to call Frank now!"  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Tuesday, January 8th, 10.23 a. m. (PDT), somewhere in Washington, D.C.:  
  
   
  
In front of the iron gate of a huge old villa in the middle of a gigantic garden stopped a black limousine. The window was brought down and a hand wearing a black glove pressed the bell button below the loudspeaker, installed in pillars at both sides of the gate. After a brief conversation with a domestic servant the iron gate opened and the car took the small alley leading up to an imposing brick building. Stopping in front of the entrance, the door was opened and a beautiful blonde got off the car. With a short attentive glance at the surrounding she approached the door. A maid waited there and welcomed her friendly. The woman was led upstairs, asked to have a seat in the library, to wait there a few moments for the host and was left alone. She ignored the offered chair and crossed the room. Standing in front of the windows she watched the garden outside. The woman was dressed in black. A black suit, under the unbuttoned jacket she wore a black leather waistcoat. Black leather gloves and black boots with high heels completed her outfit. Hidden under her jacket on her back were two guns, two silenced 38 Luger special, in a belt, a special holster.  
  
   
  
The host entered the library and found her still standing in front of the windows; her arms folded, she didn't deign to look at him – seemed absent- minded to watch the birds in the trees.  
  
   
  
"What do you want Danziger?" The greeting was unfriendly and short.  
  
   
  
She didn't even turn around and nonchalantly answered his impertinence:  
  
   
  
"Good morning to you too!" Then she slowly turned and looked at him. The statement on her face was motionless, only the dark brown eyes were cold as ice.  
  
   
  
"This is an interrogation my dear Senator!" She spat the last words with anger and disgust.  
  
   
  
"An interrogation? Danziger are you crazy? Why should I submit to your interrogation? Who do you think you are?" Senator Walter Raleigh was foaming with rage.  
  
   
  
"Don't make me angry! I heard a rumor, you hired a professional to get rid of a little problem!" Sally Danziger's voice was calm but exasperated.  
  
   
  
Senator Raleigh froze but regained his composure amazingly fast. He was so self-confident, arrogant and convinced that nothing and nobody could harm him that he actually answered her question.  
  
   
  
"Even in case if I did hire an assassin you wouldn't be able to stop that!" He crowed and continued:  
  
   
  
"Why are you so damned interested in Parker? An insane bastard! A psychopath! Addicted to alcohol, gambling and women! Why do you always stick up for him even when he sent this ridiculous mail to the NSA Panel a few months ago and I wanted to send him back to Hanson Island?" He couldn't comprehend her motivation.  
  
   
  
"That's none of your business! In your situation it is inadvisable to be too self-confident! How did you get in contact? Spill it!" She approached him now, standing only two steps away. Her right hand rested on one of the guns on her back.  
  
   
  
"Don't threaten me! I am not afraid of death!" Raleigh tightened and raised his head.  
  
   
  
"How could I? Who wants to threaten you? Answer!" Her voice was sharp like a knife.  
  
   
  
"I made an insertion in several big newspapers!"  
  
   
  
"The text? We can do this the friendly way – I like this - or we can do this the unfriendly way – I like this too!"  
  
   
  
"OFFER A SAFE HARBOUR FOR FALLEN ANGELS, CONTACT UNDER and so on. I am sure you know the usual procedure!" This sidekick was nasty. For the fragment of a moment he could recognize a reaction in her face. But the frightened statement vanished as fast as it had appeared.  
  
   
  
"Why? Tell me why? I know you hate him for what reason ever but there must be more! I am sure you had to spend a fortune for this assassin! So why?" She took a deep breath and waited for the answer.  
  
   
  
"Why? Okay! There is no risk to tell you why! You'll never have the chance to use this! The FBI is after me for more than ten years now and can't prove anything! Escalante! That put the tin lid on it! It was Parker's final sentence of death! This damned bastard thwarted my plans when he foiled Escalante's attempt to blackmail President Maxwell with the stolen tapes of his psychiatrist Dr. Grace Wyman! Howard Eastman was only the front man; they imprisoned him! I bought him; everybody has a price! But Parker screwed up a big deal! Cocaine! It cost millions! I had to agree in a backstep to stay unsuspicious! I admit I underestimated his abilities! I thought it would be enough if every police officer in town was after an insane psychopath, an EX-CIA agent, considered as an insane inmate escaped from a mental institution! A mistake! And when Dr. Talmadge informed us about his marriage with this little Russian scientist, I grasped the opportunity with both hands!" He finished his explanation with a triumphant look at her. He was still convinced that she wouldn't have the faintest chance to stop the professional.  
  
   
  
"General Manuel Escalante? This Peruvian dictator? Parker prevented the blackmail and therefore Escalante's aide finally was able to remove him! That's all I wanted to know! You may not fear death but you'll fear what I have on stock – you will prefer to be dead! I'll be back soon! I am so fed up with you – for good, once and for all! And don't worry Senator, I'll find the way out!"  
  
   
  
She left without a further look at him. He was alone again but he had a sick feeling. Her last words had affected him more he was willing to confess. He felt the Damocles' sword hovering over his head. Slowly fear began to creep into his body. Maybe this time he had gone too far …  
  
   
  
On her way back to her car she was deeply in thought. She had already arranged the necessary provisions to save them – everything within her power. And now Raleigh had confirmed the planned assassination and the text of his insertion had given her an indication who the professional was. Almost certainly the killer's nickname was 'Angel'. If she was right she would have a severe problem! Not only that she knew him well – far more than this - this angel was her Ex-husband and the only way to get in contact with him was another insertion …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present, Tuesday, January 8th, 8.40 p.m., Paris, France, Hotel Raphael, Honeymoon-suite:  
  
   
  
After his telephone conversation with Bradley Talmadge this morning Frank had told Olga about his call.  
  
   
  
"Frank! How could you! This is not what I call a honeymoon! Definitely!" She was dismayed and exasperated.  
  
   
  
But the very moment the words had bubbled out of her mouth she had understood why he had to do this. How often had Frank's intuitions saved lives! Hers too! A year ago without his intuition nobody would have recognized that the FBS spy Galina Kumanowa again had acted for her and had perfectly performed the role of Olga Vukavich! Again! So perfectly that Frank had married her in Las Vegas because first he thought she was her and he had spent his wedding night with Galina! Without his intuition she would be dead now! Galina would have gotten rid of her without batting an eyelid to reach her aim: Frank Parker!  
  
   
  
"Olga! Please sit down!" With these words he pulled her down to sit beside him on the huge bed. He looked into her face. His statement was serious and she could read in his jade green eyes like in an open book – care, love, fear for her and his most highly kept secret – his abysmally fear to be insane. He had explained his reasons why – calm, prudentially, with cold logic and very sad. She had to admit he was right! A few hours later Bradley Talmadge had called back and now they could only pack and wait for Dr. Isaac Mentnor and his two MiB.  
  
   
  
A quiet short knock on the door finally mercifully put an end to the endlessly seeming hours of waiting – dragging on like at a snail's pace. Frank gestured her to hide in the bathroom and stepped beside the door, his gun in his hand. His question was answered from Dr. Isaac Mentnor and he opened the door, still standing out of sight and out of reach. Mentnor entered the room and after a mute greeting Olga came out of the bathroom. She had watched Mentnor entering the room through the slightly opened door of the bathroom. They grabbed their luggage and left their suite heading for the stairs.  
  
   
  
In the meantime – simultaneous with Dr. Mentnor - arrived a van at the backside of the hotel in front of the subterranean garage. The written text on the van showed it was a laundry service. The van stopped in front of the back-entrance and one of the drivers got off the car, opened the back door and started to pack a few containers with the hotel's laundry. When Mentnor and the Parkers arrived at the door, he gestured them to sit down in an empty container, packed some of the laundry on top and loaded these two containers into the van. He closed the back door and got in the van too. The van started and vanished behind the corner. Mentnor waited ten minutes and left the hotel the same way he had entered it - via the main entrance. He ordered a taxi and told the driver his destination.  
  
   
  
Thirty minutes later the taxi arrived at a small military airport near Paris. The Lear-jet already waited for him – onboard Parker and Olga and shortly afterwards the plane took off – heading for Never-Never-Land.  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Monday, February 11th, 9.07 a.m. (PDT), Briefing room (NNL):  
  
   
  
Five weeks ago Frank and Olga – with the help of the special agent's arrangements – simple but effective - and without a further incident – had safely arrived at Never-Never-Land.  
  
   
  
An additional telephone conversation between Dr. Talmadge and the special agent, 'Black Dragon', had confirmed the planned assassination. But the agent hadn't mentioned neither whether Raleigh was the responsible wirepuller or not – nor had gone into even after Talmadge's probing questions. So at least one fact was proved: Frank Parker was not insane and when Talmadge had spoken to him privately the relieved statement shown on Parker's face was past every description. Additionally the agent had assured Talmadge that the necessary steps were taken to keep the presumed assassin – without mentioning further details - from executing his order – once and for all. But this problem should not be of his business – the agent had guaranteed that never again this professional killer would be after a member of the alpha team.  
  
   
  
And now, lately last evening, Dr. Talmadge had a very unpleasing telephone conversation with the two liaison officers of the NSA Panel, Ms. Norton and Mr. Sackheim. As usually condescending, brief and without allowing any protest, they informed him about the Panel's decision and announced an additional new member of Project Backstep. A very special member. A watcher. With the authority to issue directives in case of emergency. Indirectly – if necessary and unavoidable - this meant that even Dr. Bradley Talmadge as a Director of Operations had to obey the observer's directives. Not always with the team in Never-Never-Land but if present, the observer would keep an eye on every member! A courier was on his way to hand out the NSA personal file of this observer.  
  
   
  
The complete alpha team, Ramsey, Donovan, Owsley, Mentnor, Olga and Frank had already gathered around the huge table in the briefing room waiting for Bradley Talmadge. He entered and closed the door. In his hands he held an NSA file.  
  
   
  
"Good morning! Today I have to inform you about a decision our Panel had made!" They were used to his brief introductions but the tone in his voice made them startle.  
  
   
  
Five pairs of eyes focused on him – attentively, questioning and tensely. The sixth pair – Parker's – meekly glanced at the ceiling.  
  
   
  
"Yesterday evening I had a telephone conversation with Ms. Norton and Mr. Sackheim. They informed me that the Panel has decided to add a new member to our team!"  
  
   
  
"Thank God! Finally a new chrononaut! My prayers were heard and they had mercy on me!" Ramsey crowed. Parker looked daggers at him.  
  
   
  
"Not at all! Frank will stay our first chrononaut and Craig will be his replacement in case of emergency!"  
  
   
  
"Shit!" Ramsey sounded disillusioned and threw a furious glance at Parker who sat there mockingly smiling. "This Parker-baby-sitting some day will send me to an early grave! What else do they want?"  
  
   
  
"Nathan, please!" Talmadge cleared his throat.  
  
   
  
"The new member will be an observer with the order to keep an eye on every member of our team! And I mean every member! But mainly to keep an eye on Frank's sometimes a bit strange escapades! This is the personal file and I have to inform you that the agent will arrive this afternoon!" He waved the file.  
  
   
  
Everybody looked at him wide-eyed, open-mouthed and disbelievingly. Even Dr. Mentnor seemed to be surprised.  
  
   
  
"Cool!" Owsley's comment was not really perfectly fitting.  
  
   
  
"You damned insane psychopath! I bet that your last completely ridiculous e- mail a few months ago put the tin lid on it!" Ramsey was fuming with rage, jumped out of his seat and passed the room to and fro, looking as if he was just going to strangulate Parker.  
  
   
  
And the completely unthinkable happened. Nobody would have ever thought this could happen. Frank Parker blushed, lowered his eyes and could only mumble a very ashamed and astonished:  
  
   
  
"Woaaa! Oops!"  
  
   
  
Olga looked at him and frowned. Now six pairs of eyes focused him – very unpleasing.  
  
   
  
"Nate, please sit down!" Talmadge looked at his Chief of Security and after Ramsey reluctantly and still fuming with rage had a seat again he continued: "I'll make it brief! The NSA file is rather poor. The special agent's name is Ms. Sally Danziger, level five clearance! She is a former protégé of an old friend of mine, Admiral ret. James Grear, the former Chief of the NSA and …" he made a meaningful break: "obviously she is a highly recommended top dog with the NSA! Originally she was CIA, Grear heard about her and wanted her, and so four years ago she switched to NSA! That's all! I want to see all of you here at 3 o'clock this afternoon!" Talmadge's last words actually allowed no discussion but Nathan Ramsey couldn't resist:  
  
   
  
"Jesus! It's incredible! Not only a mother hen but an alpha female with the highest clearance level I've ever heard of! Maybe she is able to tame our so-called alpha male! Dr. Vukavich was not very successful over the past years! Parker if you once screw up things you do this very well! Congrats!" Ramsey spat these words with anger.  
  
   
  
Olga indignantly opened her mouth to answer this but Parker mutely waved her to give up.  
  
   
  
"Nathan please make the necessary provisions for Ms. Danziger's arrival! We'll see each other at 3 o'clock! Olga, you won't be there this afternoon because of your participation in this scientific congress in San Francisco, so you will meet her on Thursday! Back to work! Nate please follow me in my office!" Talmadge's words were the sign that the meeting was over and therefore any further discussion too.  
  
   
  
Dr. Mentnor had stayed mute over the whole meeting – deeply in thoughts of what he had heard; now he slowly rose and put his hand on Parker's shoulder:  
  
   
  
"Poor boy!" He sighed and left together with a still very astonished looking Andrew Owsley.  
  
   
  
Only Donovan and Olga still sat beside Frank Parker. After a second Donovan rose too gave him a slap on the back and sighed:  
  
   
  
"Buddy now we're in a right mess! I wonder how you'll ever wriggle out of this!"  
  
   
  
Olga looked at him and mumbled:  
  
   
  
"Okay, I have to pack!" Inwardly she was fuming with rage. She left the room without a further look at him, annoyed and very sad.  
  
   
  
He was alone now, sitting there at the table, a picture of misery. He leaned back in his chair, ran his fingers truth his hair and stared at the ceiling – absent-minded.  
  
   
  
This damned ill-fated and unfortunate e-mail, completely involuntarily sent to the NSA Panel. Not even the following backstep had saved him, because he had arrived in the past a few hours after this e-mail had been sent. Together with Donovan he had spent his evening in his quarter, they had had a few beers – okay a few more beers – and they had fooled around. Owsley had given him the secret e-mail addresses of the Panel members – a deal – as a countermove for the framed underwear of Dee Dee Maxwell, President Maxwell's daughter, personally signed with the words: 'Always thinking of you!'. He had received this picture frame short before this deal and Owsley was hot to get it. He was not really interested in this frame so he had agreed to this deal. This evening they had snooped around in the personal files of the alpha team members and after reading the comments in his file – something like: close to alcoholism, instable mental condition, problems with authority - he had 'created' a perfect answer, concluding 'instably yours Frank B. Parker'. It was just for fun, he never ever had intended to send this e-mail. He might be crazy but not this crazy. Somehow he must have pressed the enter-button and the mail was sent – irreversibly! Not even Bradley Talmadge had been able or willing to help him this time and he had been ordered to come to Washington – with immediate effect. On his way to Washington the plane was forced to return to the Base because of a nuclear incident with a military nuclear base in Kentucky and he had to backstep. Because of this backstep and his successful preventing of a fatal worldwide disaster, the Panel had been lenient and his only punishment had been a few days of suspending. He always sensed that some day his foolish flaws would break his neck but until today he somehow had always managed to wriggle out of every himself responsible mess.  
  
   
  
Phew Buddy, you're not the only one who's wondering how I'll ever wriggle out of this!   
  
   
  
Finally he shrugged his shoulders and decided not to follow Olga. Maybe in a few hours, short before her departure Olga would have calmed down. Usually she was not angry with him longer than absolutely necessary but this time he instinctively sensed that this was different, he would not simply wipe her anger off with an upsetting charming little boy smile and his usual Parker charm. He sighed deeply. He felt like the fisherman onboard his ship on his way being crunched between Scylla and Charybdis – Olga and this new agent.  
  
   
  
I am in the shit again! Who wonders? I really did it! Great!   
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Monday, February 11th, 2.57 p.m. (PDT), Briefing room (NNL):  
  
   
  
Over the past hours Parker had not really been successful in atonement or compensating the damage. Olga had departed – still a bit annoyed and he hoped that the coming Valentine's Day would improve his situation, at least a bit more.  
  
   
  
Except Dr. Olga Vukavich, she was on her way to San Francisco for this congress, Dr. Talmadge and the new team member everybody arrived at the briefing room more than on time and more than nosy to get to know the new special member.  
  
   
  
Sitting around the table they focused the glass door in tensed expectation. Finally Dr. Talmadge entered the briefing room accompanied by a beautiful blonde. Both stopped in front of the table.  
  
   
  
"Gentlemen! May I introduce to you Ms. Danziger, the Panel's observer?"  
  
   
  
Owsley couldn't help he had to whistle admiringly – which caused a very angry look of Nathan Ramsey and a risen eyebrow of Bradley Talmadge but an upsetting little smile of the agent.  
  
   
  
Nobody really noticed that Parker had grown pale. She was the woman in his dream, his nightmare, which exposed to be – at least in the biggest parts – true reality and not only a weird fantastic dream!  
  
   
  
"Good afternoon Gentlemen! Nice to meet you!" Her voice was pleasing, friendly but firm. She walked around the table and shook hands with every member personally. Finally she stood in front of Frank Parker who had risen from his chair too.  
  
   
  
"The chrononaut!" She stated and continued, reaching him her hand: "Nice to meet you Francis!" A warmhearted smile appeared in her face and revealed a tiny little fault of her otherwise extraordinary perfect beauty – a really tiny edge of her right incisor was missing, hardly visible and hardly worth mentioning – obviously broken off.  
  
   
  
The remnant members of the team were all ears now: 'Francis?'. A puzzled look appeared in their faces.  
  
   
  
He shook her hand and frowned. The only persons who had ever called him 'Francis' had been his Mother Superior at the orphanage in Philadelphia and … similarly as long ago … eons ago … his schoolmate … Sally Jensen. He looked into her eyes. Wonderful dark brown eyes with tiny golden spots dancing around the iris. It hit him like a shark attack! The edge of this incisor! An accident in a swimming pool when they swam a race with each other at school. He had comforted her afterwards and assured her that he would … A moan escaped between his lips.  
  
   
  
"Sally? … Sally Jensen?"  
  
   
  
"You remember me?" She seemed to be astonished, had never thought that this could be possible, but her question and the beautiful smile lightening up her face showed him that this was true.  
  
   
  
"You know each other?" Not only Ramsey was completely baffled but also the first one who asked.  
  
   
  
Parker's explanation followed immediately:  
  
   
  
"Jesus! Sally! This was one of the best days of my life! I was ten years old and in the middle of the year I had to switch schools! On my first day at the new school there was a field trip. We all were supposed to pick partners but right away nobody wanted to be buddies with the new orphan kid!" The words bubbled out of his mouth.  
  
   
  
Donovan smiled he had heard this story a few times over the past years and knew exactly who Sally Jensen was, but Nathan Ramsey had to add one of his usual comments:  
  
   
  
"If this was one of your best days, I am not eager to hear about your worst day!"  
  
   
  
"Anyway! Sally told the most popular boy at school that she couldn't be his partner because she wanted to be with me! Seriously – this was one of the best days of my life! And the following months – until her parents moved to Chicago – really were a few of the best ones in my life!" Parker still held her hand in his and totally ignored Ramsey's comment or the others still staring at them.  
  
   
  
"Twenty-four years!" He smiled.  
  
   
  
He felt the incredible urge, he had to fight hard to keep this under control, to hug her, to feel her, to reassure himself that this was real, but he hesitated. Suddenly he memorized the fragments of his half-real nightmare and what he had dreamt about her. If this part of his dream turned out to be true too – than he would have a severe problem. He had to presume that his old schoolmate was a member of the NSA Panel and at the very moment he wasn't sure whether he had to consider her being the female incarnation of Darth Vader or if she was still his Princess Leia, the lovely little girl he used to know? Twenty-four years! An incredible long period of time! Why should she still be the one he used to know? People change over the years, especially when they were as young as they had been at that time, because of life experience, jobs and all the other influences - some bad, some good.  
  
   
  
"I can't believe it! They are school-buddies! Why the hell does this damned smartassed bigmouth always, really always, have more luck than brains?" Ramsey shook his head he was bewildered. "If they are school-buddies she will credit this as a bonus and will turn a blind eye!" He grouched.  
  
   
  
With a start her smile vanished to thin air. Without even turning to him she addressed him sharply, tore him off a strip:  
  
   
  
"Who says so? Mr. Ramsey, if I need somebody to comment my further possible conduct, I'll let you know!" For a moment he stood there open-mouthed and tried to regain his composure. It was not so much what she said, it was the way in which she said it!  
  
   
  
"Wow!" Owsley could not keep his trap shut. His reward was Ramsey's famous killer look. The others stayed mute – the predator had bared its teeth. And Frank Parker arrived at the conviction that his caution regarding his school-buddy might be necessary for his further health and his survival. His remarkable instincts had saved his life for more than once.  
  
   
  
Bradley Talmadge cleared his throat: "Um … Ms. Danziger I'll show you round! The whole base-complex, your office and your quarter!"  
  
   
  
She bowed her head in agreement and made a slight change in her tone:  
  
   
  
"Gentlemen! We'll see each other later!" She left the briefing room with Bradley Talmadge.  
  
   
  
"Phew!" Parker audibly let the air out of his lungs and looked at the others. They all seemed to be a bit perplexed.  
  
   
  
"Gee Buddy! … Want a beer?" Donovan's comment said everything.  
  
   
  
"Be careful! All of you!" Dr. Mentnor thoughtfully mentioned before he left.  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Thursday (Valentine's Day), February 14th, 10.06 a.m. (PDT), Sally Danziger's office (NNL):  
  
   
  
From Monday on Parker had not really had the chance to exchange more than the occasional word with her – never mind talking about joint memories. But due to Olga's absence he had had enough time to think. He had called Olga on Monday evening at her hotel in San Francisco and had told her every detail – even the faintest one - about the new member. Somehow he sensed that these rare occasions to talk to Sally were their mutual attempt to avoid each other, to avoid sharing memories of their mutual bright and happy days of childhood, their friendship. Only a bit more than six months – but definitely the happiest months for this orphan. So he had to come up with a decision. He needed to do this. He had to find out if she still was his friend. So he acted what his usual motto was: 'Don't think twice – follow your heart!'. Her office door was open and he entered with a slight knock:  
  
   
  
"Good morning! Wow! You look fantastic!" This was an allusion to her outfit: a fiery red suit with a breathtaking neckline, slightly exposing the upper part of the fiery red lace-trimmed underwear; the look was completed by perfectly fitting red high heels. She was packing and with a short glance he saw that she put two guns into her traveling bag – Lugers. She tightened and looked at him while she closed the zipper of her bag.  
  
   
  
"Good morning Francis! Thanks!"  
  
   
  
"You are leaving? Um … Valentine's preparations?" He frowned.  
  
   
  
She laughed: "Yes and no! Yes, tonight I have a date in Washington and", … her tone changed and was cold now: "No, I'll promised somebody to pay a visit!" As fast as before her tone changed again and now her voice was friendly again: "Your plans for today?"  
  
   
  
"Oh, I promised Olga to pick her up at the airport. Afterwards I planned an evening in Duckwater!"  
  
   
  
"Duckwater? That sounds cool!" A mocking grin appeared.  
  
   
  
"Don't rush to conclusions! There is an exclusive and very nice little Italian restaurant in Duckwater and an even nicer little hotel! Bradley gave me a night off!" He grinned.  
  
   
  
"Ah, I see! Romance! Francis what's up? You are not here to discuss plans for Valentine's Day!" Suddenly she was professional again.  
  
   
  
He cleared his throat: "Um … not exactly!" Nervously he pulled on his right ear before he continued, his voice soft and low: "I need to know something! Sally, why are you here? I mean the real thing! And … are we still friends?" Now it was out.  
  
   
  
"You know why!" The answer was brief.  
  
   
  
He was short and to the point, staking everything on one card: "So a Panel's member is here to guarantee that the crazy chrononaut is playing along and if not, she'll send him back to Hanson Island?" He nodded verifying the obvious.  
  
   
  
She was not even too surprised, respectively ignored his comment on the Panel member: "Correct! But she'll never send him back to Hanson Island!" She made a break. The conversation had turned into a third-person-version. Obviously this was easier to handle – for both of them. He looked at her – bewildered – waiting for her to continue:  
  
   
  
"If he is not playing along she has her orders and he will be 'a dead man walking'!" Her voice was low even soft, but left no doubt.  
  
   
  
He looked straight into her eyes and realized the sadness in them:  
  
   
  
"What happened to my Sally Jensen?" The question was asked softly, honestly and sad.  
  
   
  
"She became an adult! Come on face the facts!" But with a glance at him she sighed:  
  
"Obviously Frank Parker is a grown child!" A weak smile appeared on her face.  
  
   
  
"That's exactly the statement Olga always uses!" He responded her smile.  
  
   
  
"Clever girl! I think I'll like her!" She tried to mock and he had to laugh despite the things he had heard before.  
  
   
  
"Sally? Do you remember our last day together?" Suddenly he was very serious again – imploring, tried to recall the magic of childhood, their affection, and the emotional bond between them.  
  
   
  
"Jesus! Francis! This was more than twenty-four years ago!"  
  
   
  
"Do you remember it?" He insisted on an answer – softly, gently.  
  
   
  
She sighed her answer was impatient:  
  
   
  
"We were ten! Children!" … She gave in: "Okay, I gave you a photo, it was shot the day we had this field trip. Our first day! We promised never to forget each other! Pleased?" She folded her arms.  
  
   
  
A bright smile appeared on his face: "Yes, I am!"  
  
   
  
Out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket he pulled his wallet. He opened it and pulled out an old photo, the edges slightly crunched, a bit faded, showing two children smiling at each other: a pretty brown haired little girl and a handsome dark haired little boy.  
  
   
  
She took the photo and held it in her hands. The statement on her face was a mixture of disbelief, joy and sadness.  
  
   
  
"You've kept this?" She shook her head: "Incredible!"  
  
   
  
"Sally, do you really think I would .. I could … or anybody in the whole world would ever forget the first love of his life?" His voice was so loving now.  
  
   
  
She tightened, gave him back the photo and grabbed her traveling bag. The very moment she wanted to pass him, he took her arm, hindered her and looked into her eyes.  
  
   
  
"Sally, do you remember what happened then?" A husky whisper. He lowered his head.  
  
   
  
She bowed her head. He let go her arm and his right hand cupped her chin, raised her head to meet her eyes. Straightly looking into each other's eyes they stood there for a moment. Jade green eyes sank into dark brown eyes – drowned in an ocean of tiny golden spots. The memories flooded his mind. It had almost killed him to say goodbye to her. Standing there. Alone again. Lost. The lonely orphan kid standing on the sidewalk, his arms, his legs denied obeying. Staring after the departing car he was incapable to wave after her, incapable to run after the car until it vanished. Simply too much for a child … Then he kissed her … again … after twenty-four years … The same way he had kissed her twenty-four years ago … Their first kiss! … And their last kiss right before she had gotten into her parents' car to leave for Chicago … Innocent. Loving. Endlessly sad. Touching her lips with his, gently and softly like a feather.  
  
   
  
He let her go. She cleared her throat and he could see a tear sparkling on her long black eyelashes.  
  
   
  
"Let's stop this sentimental crap! I have to leave!" She seemed to be in a complete turmoil - more than she wanted to confess. She passed him without a further look. He leaned against the doorframe, the photo still in his hand and looked after her, walking down the hallway. Suddenly she stopped and turned around:  
  
   
  
"Francis, be careful! Maybe I'm not always able to watch over you!" Without waiting for an answer she turned and vanished behind the next corner.  
  
   
  
Still leaning against the doorframe he looked at the old photo in his hand and a charming warm-hearted smile appeared on his face. 'Don't think twice – follow your heart'! Oh yes, she still was his beloved friend – no doubt and no matter what she had said before! Sometimes life could be wonderful! There is always the sun behind the rain. He put the photo back into his wallet, sighed and walked down the hallway, heading for the parking zone when he met Bradley Talmadge, pulling along a huge golf bag.  
  
   
  
"Mornin' Bradley! Leaving too?" He seemed to enjoy life.  
  
   
  
"Ah, Frank, yes, I promised an old friend to play golf. He did me a favor!" Talmadge waved a goodbye.  
  
   
  
Parker frowned and thoughtfully looked after him. He shook his head:  
  
   
  
"Today must be payday! Somehow it seems as if everybody is going to pay his dues!"  
  
   
  
He shrugged his shoulders and followed Talmadge outside the building into the bright and warm sunshine. A wonderful day …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Thursday, February 14th, Valentine's Day, 6.15 p.m. (PDT), somewhere in Washington, D.C.:  
  
   
  
In front of the iron gate of Senator Walter Raleigh's huge old villa stopped a black limousine. The window of this car was opened and a female hand pressed the bell button below the loudspeakers. After a brief conversation with a domestic servant the iron gate opened and the limousine took the small alley leading up to the imposing mansion. Stopping in front of the entrance the visitor was already awaited. The maid welcomed her and led her upstairs to Senator Raleigh's private office. With a short knock on the door the maid announced her and left them alone.  
  
   
  
Senator Raleigh sat behind his huge mahogany desk and looked at her frowning:  
  
   
  
"What do you want this time Danziger?"  
  
   
  
"Happy Valentine's Day!" With these words she slowly passed the room – a dangerous lurking beast of prey - and approached his desk until she stood right beside his chair. She leaned against the desk and folded her arms.  
  
   
  
"I promised to be back and here I am!" He could not read the statement on her face.  
  
   
  
"Again - what do you want?" He was really angry now – impatient. Somehow he felt uncomfortable. Unconsciously he tugged on his shirt collar.  
  
A malicious diabolic grin appeared on her face when she answered his question:  
  
   
  
"You remember our last discussion? Your little Parker-problem? I heard a rumor that your assassin was not really successful?" She laughed – silently and mocking. "Don't worry I have a solution for your problem!"  
  
   
  
She bended forward and her left hand, wearing a signet ring, touched his hand on the armrest of his chair – as if she wanted to soothe him. A slight touch was enough, the bottom of the ring burst open and a tiny razor-sharp sting appeared. A tiny syringe filled with poison – extremely fast and efficiently paralyzing the victim and additionally faking the symptoms of a heart attack. A burning touch like the sting of a bee. No chance for him to react. Before he actually realized what had happened he felt a blazing heat radiating from this injection spot – flooding through his entire body in raging waves – spasms. He wanted to raise his hand to grab for his heart – it felt like a heart attack. But in the fragrance of a moment he was unable to move – never mind to talk – except a gargling sound escaping his throat. Saliva ran out of his mouth. She watched him - merciless, cruel and completely untouched – watching a laboratory rabbit, an experiment. The statement in his eyes was sheer horror, incredible fear and panic. Again she bended forward and lowered her head until she almost touched his left ear with her lips. He could hear her whisper:  
  
   
  
"Don't worry Senator! I promised not to kill you and I always keep my promises! I promised to come up with something completely different! You said you wouldn't fear death! But you will fear this! You'll lose everything! Power, richness, your previous life!" She made a break and raised her head to meet his eyes.  
  
   
  
"Wanna see Hanson Island?" She smiled at him. He looked into the Devil's face.  
  
   
  
Then she crossed the room opened the door and shouted:  
  
   
  
"Quick! Come in! We need an ambulance! Senator Raleigh has a heart attack!"  
  
   
  
The alarmed maid froze, turned on her heels and raced into the office. She found the Senator sitting motionless in his chair, heavily breathing and bathed in sweat, while the visitor grabbed the phone, dialed a number and requested an ambulance.  
  
   
  
Three minutes later an ambulance car under sirens raced up the alley and stopped with squeaking brakes in front of the entrance – the maid already waiting for them. Two male doctors jumped out of the car, opened the backdoors, pulled out a stretcher and their bags and followed the maid into the building – upstairs to the office. They took care of him and only a few minutes afterwards Raleigh was fastened on the stretcher and they wanted to lift him into the car. A short nod and they stopped for a moment. She approached the stretcher, looked at Raleigh and waved a goodbye:  
  
   
  
"Live long and prosper!" With these words they lifted him into the car. With superhuman effort an incredible, inhuman sound escaped his paralyzed throat – the last scream of a deadly wounded animal. Senseless. Nobody would help him. Only his archenemies had heard this inhuman scream – it was far too low. He continued screaming until the closed backdoors cut him off.  
  
   
  
One of the doctors approached her:  
  
   
  
"The package is ready Ma'am!" She nodded approvingly:  
  
   
  
"Send it to Hanson Island! One way - no return!"  
  
   
  
She watched her two 'sweepers' getting into the car. They started and left the realty under sirens.  
  
   
  
She turned to look at the maid, still standing there in the doorframe of the mansion's entrance, too far away to overhear the brief conversation or even Raleigh's scream and shrugged her shoulders:  
  
   
  
"Don't worry! He is in good hands!"  
  
   
  
She turned and went over to her limousine, got into it and for a moment she sat there behind the steering wheel, lost in thoughts and sighed.  
  
   
  
I think the Panel will need a new fifth member! With immediate effect! Maybe an 'Angel' could help? Let's see what we can do!   
  
   
  
With a short glance on her watch a bright and lovely smile appeared on her face. Sometimes life could be wonderful! Still enough time to get back to the hotel, to take a quick shower and to change clothing for the upcoming Valentine's Date – a date with an 'Angel' …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Thursday, February 14th, Valentine's Day, 10.30 p.m. (PDT), Nathan Ramsey's office (NNL):  
  
   
  
The Chief of Security, Nathan Ramsey, was sitting in his office. He was on duty this night and zapping through the TV channels when suddenly a short CZN news report came to his attention:  
  
   
  
CZN NEWS FLASH:  
  
   
  
TODAY WE HAVE BEEN INFORMED THAT SIXTY-FOUR YEARS OLD SENATOR WALTER RALEIGH SUFFERED A HEART ATTACK. ACCORDING TO OFFICIAL SOURCES HE DIED THIRTY MINUTES AGO AT THE INTENSE CARE UNIT OF THE WASHINGTON GENERAL HOSPITAL. RALEIGH WAS WITH THE CONGRESS AND RESPONSIBLE FOR DEFENSE BUDGET. HE WAS WELL-KNOWN FOR BEING A HARDLINER. HIS FUNERAL WILL BE ON MONDAY.  
  
   
  
He stared at the screen. What a coincidence! Coincidence?  
  
   
  
He had to check something. He rose from his chair and walked down the hallway heading for Andrew 'Hooter' Owsley's office. He entered without knocking and found Owsley sitting in the middle of a complete chaos on the floor. He climbed over spread documents, wires, parts of software, PC games and finally planted himself in front of a perplexed looking Owsley – his arms akimbo.  
  
   
  
"Gee! What a pigpen! Clean up your office! Mr. Owsley this is not a kindergarten! Did you find anything about this damned 'Black Dragon'?"  
  
   
  
"Phew! Not very much! Every access to these files is protected with a special code! I would have to create a special program to hack into these files! But I thought this would not longer be of interest because the Parkers are back and safe now?"  
  
   
  
"You thought? Move your little ass and start to find out every information you can get! I want to know who this 'Black Dragon' is!" Ramsey was furious now. "And … how often have I told you to dress properly? You little freak! Comb your hair and wear a tie!" Ramsey turned on his heels, almost stumbled and left a still very perplexed Owsley while he raced out of the door – fuming and swearing.  
  
   
  
Owsley sighed deeply, rose and carelessly kicked some of the spread parts out of his way. He sat down in front of his computer and started to type – he seemed to have an idea …  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Saturday, February 16th, 11.52 p.m. (PDT), Nathan Ramsey's office (NNL):  
  
   
  
Half an hour ago the security guard from the entrance gate had informed Nathan Ramsey that special agent Sally Danziger had returned to Never-Never- Land and was in her quarter now. The watcher was back and Ramsey had this bad feeling again. Over the past two days he had nerved and urged Owsley to hurry up and to try to investigate on this 'Black Dragon' - contrary to his knowledge that Owsley was the best hacker they ever had in Never-Never-Land – despite his age! Reluctantly he had to confess this to himself but he would never ever tell him what he really thought about him. Never! This simply would not fit to his well-known and carefully cultured image of being a snappy and sarcastic watchdog!  
  
   
  
He couldn't resist! The temptation simply was too big! On the base in every room there were installed these tiny little cameras to watch each and everything. Simply necessary for security reasons. And he was the Chief of Security who had to know everything! Perfect excuse! After a short moment of hesitation and a glance around the office to guarantee that – due to the late hour – nobody would disturb him, he switched on a small button and on one of the monitors in front of him a wonderful picture appeared. Sally Danziger was taking a shower! Ramsey was not really a peeping Tom! No! But like every male being he admired beautiful women and this view was overwhelming – irresistible! He sat there on his chair – openmouthed and with bright shining eyes – admiring her beautiful body. She was washing her hair. Drops of water ran down her neck and her breasts like little waterfalls mixed with shower gel – down on her flat belly and further on over her hips. He admired the movements of her slightly muscular body – well trained and athletic. He couldn't look at her entire body, but the camera captured enough to see that she was totally shaved …  
  
   
  
Lost in thoughts he recognized far too late that Andrew Owsley had entered his office with a short knock on the door and stood now behind his chair and watched the monitor too.  
  
   
  
"Mmmh!" A knowing and admiring sound escaped his lips. Owsley cleared his throat. "Wow! Ramsey's private peep show! Lecher! If she finds out that you are watching her she'll bury you! Take this for guaranteed!"  
  
   
  
Ramsey almost jumped out of his chair but forgot to switch the camera off. He was totally surprised, shocked and ashamed that Owsley had caught him doing this.  
  
   
  
"Owsley! Can't you knock? What's up?" Ramsey growled after he tried to regain at least somewhat similar to composure.  
  
   
  
"Fact is I knocked! And my reason to drop by is I know who the 'Black Dragon' is!" He triumphantly looked at Ramsey and made a meaningful break.  
  
   
  
The last sentence slowly sank into Ramsey's mind – he was still a bit distracted.  
  
   
  
"Ahem, spill it! Who is this guy?" Ramsey was close to losing his regained composure again.  
  
   
  
"This guy is she! It took me two days to hack into the right NSA databases! And … as you know every incoming or outgoing telephone conversation is taped here in NNL. And I had – incidentally to say so – the brilliant idea to let Dr. Talmadge's telephone conversation with the 'Black Dragon' run through several voice analyzing programs and guess what? The voice was female – only distorted with the help of a technical device. You know that we have tried this already when Parker was after this 'Delores' and we finally found out that 'Delores' was Dean Lores a former engineer in Dr. Mentnor's team working on the sphere program before Dr. Ballard joined the alpha team!"  
  
   
  
"Danziger is this Dragon? What else? Do I have to extract every detail separately?"  
  
   
  
"Sally Danziger is a so-called silencer. These silencers – there are only five working with the NSA at the moment – are united in a team called 'Dragons'. I don't have to explain what their job is! Professional killers working with the NSA! She originally was with the CIA – trained and very efficient. Until the day Admiral James Earl Grear became aware of her and requested her for a special job! Obviously he was very impressed and asked her to switch. She became his protégé! And now she is a real top dog with the NSA – even without the help and support of Grear who had retired seven months ago!"  
  
   
  
"But … I always thought these silencers are all male?" Ramsey was surprised.  
  
   
  
"Yeap! One exception! The 'Dragon Leader'! The agent with the codename 'Black Dragon'!"  
  
   
  
Now both stared at the monitor – still showing a part of the shower cubicle. In the meantime Sally Danziger had finished taking a shower and turned to close the faucet.  
  
They had an excellent view on her back now! Two pairs of eyes looked at her, tried to suck up this view, were mesmerized – over her shoulders, down her spine to the beginning of her sweet buttocks and discovered a tattoo – right at the end of her spine. The wonderful masterpiece of a Japanese tattoo artist – small – only approximately three inches wide and two inches high – colored almost totally in black. Only the spread out wings and the outlines of the plates and the claws were kept in gold and emerald green – the opened mouth showed fiery red flames. The tattoo seemed to live – they could almost see the tail's furious beating, hear the fiercely growl and smell the fume escaping from the blown nostrils  
  
   
  
–        a black dragon …  
  
   
  
Two pairs of eyes widened ashamed, two male bodies startled – Sally Danziger looked straight into the direction of the tiny hidden camera behind the covering of the air condition. A smile appeared on her beautiful face! She sensed – she knew – she was watched! The smile was threatening, left not the faintest remnant of a doubt that if ever somebody would do this again this would be his sentence of death!  
  
   
  
Ramsey quickly switched off the monitor and looked at Owsley. He cleared his throat.  
  
   
  
"Mmmh good job Mr. Owsley! Well done! But! I warn you this has to stay private! Never tell anybody here a single word! Otherwise I'll roast you alive! Do you read me?" He was serious now.  
  
Owsley nodded agreeing and was a bit surprised to hear a laudation out of Ramsey's mouth. He still looked at Ramsey when he suddenly realized that Ramsey had turned pale and stared over his shoulders in the direction of the doorframe. He turned to see what Ramsey had scared and froze.  
  
   
  
Nonchalantly leaning at the doorframe – his arms crossed – Frank Parker stood there, had overheard their entire conversation and had attentively watched the monitor - with a little admiring smile.  
  
   
  
"Parker! How long are you already standing there?" Ramsey was fuming.  
  
   
  
"Long enough!" His smile became mocking now. He turned waved a 'good night' and wanted to leave but he stopped and turned again:  
  
   
  
"I think this is going to be a very special and really interesting further cooperation!" Turning on his heels he disappeared – whistling – and left two very perplex looking men …  
  
   
  
   
  
Present: Saturday, February 16th, 11.52 p.m. (PDT), Hanson Island, CIA institution for mental illness:  
  
   
  
A doctor dressed in his white lab coat carrying a small black box in his hands quickly strode through the long white corridors; his footsteps echoing from the naked walls. The two bulky male nurses had called him a few minutes ago.  
  
   
  
They had already tied the patient who was awake now. Awake from a troubled sleep supported by strong psychiatric drugs they had administered him to abuse him for their illegal aims. Another laboratory rabbit to test their new drugs and the effects on possible hostile soldiers.  
  
   
  
Former Senator Walter Raleigh was tied on his plank bed with chains of leather round his chest, arms and legs; tick and impossible to break off. Now he was in full possession of his faculties, realized every single move of his tormenters but was not able to overcome them. He wanted to kill them with his bare hands for all what they had done to him, for all the incredible pain, for all the tremendous torture but his still weak body denied to obey. He tried to scream and realized with a start that this would be senseless. Nobody would dare to help him. Nobody would want to help him. They all knew who he was! He had told them that he was Senator Walter Raleigh and they would have to fear the consequences if they would not immediately free him! They had ignored his threat. They had their instructions – straight and unmistakable: Never let Raleigh out of Hanson Island – he is buried alive!  
  
   
  
The doctor entered. He put down the small box on the iron beside table. He took out of this box a syringe filled with a turquoise liquid, held the syringe up and tested it. A sharp thin jet erupted in a glistening rainbow. It worked. He took a cotton pad, sterilized the puncture spot and injected the liquid into Raleigh's vein …  
  
   
  
4.1 THE END  
  
  


End file.
